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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042443">The Things We Used to Share</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/trASHcantwrite/pseuds/trASHcantwrite'>trASHcantwrite</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Tragedy of Theseus [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Ghost Wilbur Soot, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, No Fluff, No shipping, Not Beta Read, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Sorry Not Sorry, Suicide, The Author Regrets Nothing, Toby Smith | Tubbo Angst, Toby Smith | Tubbo Misses TommyInnit, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), no beta we die like l'manberg, sleepy bois inc - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:21:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,737</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/trASHcantwrite/pseuds/trASHcantwrite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>TW: suicide and the aftermath of suicide </p><p> </p><p>  <em>A painstaking pause. </em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>A realization, of some sorts, as Wilbur analyzed this person he thought was a figment of his imagination in front of him.This was his actual brother. Gone was the bright blonde hair and vibrant blue eyes and too red t-shirt that Tommy would normally greet him with. </em></p><p> <br/><em>It had been replaced. Replaced with a dimmed and saddened look in Tommy’s eyes, hair ablaze with small flickering flames, with clothes ripped and rotted, showing scars of burns and damaged skin. This wasn’t the Tommyinnit Ghostbur had wanted to see- not the one that he had been used to. </em><br/> </p><p>  <em>This Tommyinnit wasn’t even Tommy. </em></p><p> <br/><em>“Oh, Tommy. What did you do?" </em></p><p>...</p><p> <br/>When Tommy takes the plunge off of the cliffs into the lava lake, there are lots more consequences for the teenager than originally anticipated. Involving ghosts and other spirits, compasses, &amp; foggy and lost memories. Death wasn't the last of what the Dream SMP server had seen of Tommyinnit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo, Dave | Technoblade &amp; Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade &amp; Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Tragedy of Theseus [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>342</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Completed stories I've read, Found family to make me feel something, MCYT Fic Rec, Purrsonal Picks, The Reasons For My Insomnia</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Last Words of a Dying Star</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi everyone! welcome to installment two! this one is gonna be a LOT more angst, a little bit more fluff, and some sleepy bois stuff (not just tommy and tubbo this time around, you guys aren't getting away with that this easily). any feedback is really appreciated!! comments really made me work way faster (normally it takes me EONS to write more stuff, even though a week is pretty long, but your sweet comments really made it easier for me to write more)</p><p>yes, this is also a multi-chapter fic this time around, it originally was gonna be a one shot, and then I got too deep into the first chapter and decided that everyone's pov's that I wanted would just be its own chapter- so enjoy that, I have no idea if this will be 3, 4 or 5 chapters so we shall have to see how this goes-</p><p>anyways if you want to, go ahead and give me a follow over at my twitter- @whattheh0nkk ! I might start posting more about the stuff I'm writing and stuff (it's on private, but if you request I'll accept you (: )</p><p>also, I did add in some of my own head canons and stuff I've been seeing around, especially with ghostbur, partly because I kinda wanted a form of wilbur to be back to console tommy, and partly because ghostbur does deserve an arc, a slow but sure redemption arc</p><p>also ghostinnit design? how we feeling? I will be building up on that as we go along, so hopefully you guys enjoyed that description you got of him so far. I'm no artist, but I might attempt to draw him soon with some concept art and it might go up on my twitter, so motivation to follow that maybe? maybe I'll also leak some design points on what my ghostinnit is like </p><p>I lowkey hate how this chapter turned out, it wasn't what I originally wanted at all, but also,  in my mind, tommy's ghost doesn't have a set kind of memories he remembers,  it's just kinda what his brain wants him to remember, so, it is what it is. this was super bad and I'm just ahofjehpwohite, self hatred upon my own writing </p><p>ALRIGHTY HAHA ANYWAYS SO I THINK THAT'S EVERYTHING!! uhh, next chapter hopefully sooner than a week- and comments and kudos always make me work faster! that's all! love you all and thanks for the INSANE support on the last one!</p><p>-ash &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Heroes don’t get happy endings.” </em>
</p><p>And then-</p><p>Nothing. It was a place full of pitch black darkness, small and bright white lights twinkling around the place, a place of silence and solitude. It looked like those sorts of places that one would see inside of a sci-fi or fantasy movie, the star-like lights twinkling around at every angle and every location inside. The location he was in looked like space, a whimsical and fantastical version of a place Tommy never thought he would discover. It was like the song that he had desired to drift off in before. Before what?- well, he really had no clue what happened.  He didn’t know why he was here. How he ended up here. </p><p><em>Why couldn’t he remember- Why couldn’t he remember- Why couldn’t he remember- </em> </p><p>Tommy wasn’t quite sure where he was. </p><p>He had just woken up in a void full of nothingness, no one there. He couldn’t remember anything in that moment- where he was, how he even ended up there, nothing. Every time he tried to close his eyes, forcing his brain to try and conjure up some sort of concept of - well, anything really- his mind drew a blank. </p><p>There was just static, neverending confusion. </p><p>Words and phrases and flashes of memories would occasionally race through Tommy’s mind, the young man struggling to reach out and grasp ahold of them as they whizzed by. They moved too quickly, too fast for him to process. It was all too frustrating, his focus so obviously not intact, any semblance of what he had been searching for lost in the whirlwind of crazed snippets of thoughts in his mind, like a hurricane.</p><p>Hurricane. </p><p><em>In the eye of the hurricane it is quiet. </em>Why could he remember that line? It had no meaning for him, no real explanation.  There was no meaning behind the words that rattled around in his brain, screaming that they were important somehow. <em>But he couldn’t remember.</em> Scrunching his hands deep into his hair, the young teenager’s hands shaking with a fervor that he had never felt before, Tommy just wanted to remember something. Instead, his hands were met with a sharp and hot flash of pain, immediately recoiling at the touch. </p><p>His head was hot. It wasn’t supposed to be hot. Tommy remembered that much. He had normal hair- or that was at least what he remembered from what the fuzzy static voices told him. So why was his head hot? Why did it feel like he had just come into straight contact with flames? Why couldn't he remember why he was like this? More importantly, why  couldn’t he remember what had caused him to be like this? </p><p>His fingers were even strange. Shaking softly and  constantly, the last fold of his fingers charred black as ebony, there was something so very off-putting about them. He wanted the shaking to stop, for his hands to gain the steadiness that the fuzzy whispers in the back of his brain told him were normal, but they never stopped. Humans didn’t have charred black fingers, either. Confusion wrapped itself around Tommy as he looked down at himself, wondering why he didn’t-</p><p>Oh. </p><p>There was the answer as he looked down, his whole body a sort of soft transparent color, soft greys and reds blending together. Faded burn scars littered his skin from places where his clothing had been ripped and where they didn’t cover his skin (but <em>was it skin?</em>, he asked himself quietly, a sadness engulfing him as he realized he wasn’t the same person some part of him whispered that he once was). His clothes were absolutely destroyed, a sort of rotted char tearing away at his clothes, representing something that Tommy had no idea what it meant. But the teenager did know what his transparent appearance meant- that much was apparent.</p><p>He was a… what was the right word for it?</p><p>A flash of a memory screamed the answer in his brain, offering him an image of a person that gave off a sad but distinct feeling of home. A feeling of both envy and hatred, fused with a feeling of loss that was indescribable.  Clad in a soft yellow sweater, translucent hands that looked much like his stained with a color of blue, a smile plastered on his face, Tommy found the answer he needed through a memory- a ghost.</p><p>Ghost. </p><p>Huh. </p><p>How <em>did</em> he become a ghost? </p><p>The fuzzy voices answered for him, memories coming in quick flashes again. It was strange to be asking the void for answers, his mind slowly trying to put the pieces together for him, everything lost to the young teenager as he asked question upon question, some being left unanswered in the glimmer of these false stars. </p><p>But this question was answered quickly, almost as if his brain had decided that this question was important enough to be merited with an answer. It came slowly, cautiously, as if his mind was picking apart the pieces, only specific emotions and parts of the memories coming to light- almost as if there were some parts of Tommy’s life that his mind wanted him to forget. </p><p>But it all started with a final control room, a feeling of overwhelming betrayal as a stabbing in the back (quite literally), the loss of a friend, and end of a battle. The fading of light as fury ignited his soul for the friends he had lost, pain sharp like a knife as it struck through his soul. His eyes staring into those of his enemy as he faded away, an anger unmatched in his heart as he promised revenge somehow. Strike one.</p><p> A duel to decide the fate of something that Tommy had long forgotten, it’s relevance not important to the teenager- no, ghost. A parting shot, poetic in all its glory, as he missed his target and his opponent did not. That time came with darkness, humiliation, fear and sadness about the failure of what he had done. It came with disappointment, a feeling that he hadn’t done enough- he hadn’t been enough. He had been staring ten paces away from the enemy he had died in front of and vowed revenge against the first time, and he had failed. Tommy died with his eyes locked upon said enemy again. Strike two.</p><p> And the last- the last came the hardest, his mind almost giving a hesitant pause before showing Tommy what he desired to see. A sea flaming red, a luring whisper that would call him into a fiery pit, and a young man lost in the world, calling out for help. A decision made in the presence of ghosts of memories past, and the quiet silence that followed a jump to doom. The final one came with a sort of peace, Tommy remembered. A feeling of letting go, a weight off of his shoulders. Yet again, he was staring into the eyes of enemies- this time, warped and confused versions of those enemies, alongside a friend who had tried to plead against him too late. Feelings had been engulfed in the pit he had ended in, leaving himself alone and his small and hopeless cries for someone to be there and pull him from the edge unanswered.  Strike three.  </p><p>How did he know there were only three? </p><p>His mind struggled for an answer, leaving Tommy with the static and the stars for a couple of minutes longer, as if a part of him didn’t want to relive the memory that would offer him the answer. The static would much rather let him drift off into peace with the familiar humming tune of a song he had long forgotten, his imagination running wild at the mere thought of it. </p><p>The answer came eventually, offering him sweeping skies and a sunset over walls built tall and proud, two men sitting at the edge. “You see, Tommy, you only get three chances in this world.” Tommy turned to see a man who looked quite like what he associated with the word ghost- except very much alive. A beanie over his messy mop of curls, a revolutionary-like outfit slightly jumbled and chaotic after battle after battle in a war. His mind silently supplied him with a name- <em>Wilbur Soot. Wilbur. Ghostbur.</em> The name faintly reminded him of memories of childhood, an older brother-like figure standing next to him as they took on the world, a fuzzy figure clad in armor and a cape with pink hair (something inside of him told Tommy it was another brother, more distant and older) watching from afar, standing beside a man who looked quite like a father, blurred but familiar all  the same, donned in a very much so unfashionable bucket hat and soft grey wings that would guide a lost soul home. “You’ve already given up two for L’Manberg-'' Tommy's mind blurred out the last word, unable to find it, the strain of the memory and identifying the man inside of it too much to handle. “You get one chance left, Tommy. One life.”</p><p>“So make the most of it.” </p><p>Three lives. </p><p>So he should’ve been dead. Not a ghost- not anything. He should’ve been dead, no longer existing. That was the rules of  things. Like baseball- the stupid game Americans loved to obsess over. <em>Three strikes and you’re out.</em>  So why was he a ghost? Why was he still here, lingering around like a piece of a forgotten memory and thrown out like a useless piece of garbage? The voices inside of his mind supplied him with the knowledge that ghosts had unfinished business, loose ends left untied in the world that they needed to resolve before passing on. That was the knowledge that everyone had if they saw a ghost wandering, they had something they needed to resolve before they were at peace, a final action or word spoken, maybe even something to obtain. </p><p>But Tommy didn’t have unfinished business. From the way he viewed the things that he remembered, small memories slowly drifting back to him, there was nothing to come back for. In the end, it had just been him. All alone, the world turning its back to him. Which then begged the question- why was he back? Why did the universe decide to send him back as a ghost? </p><p>Before Tommy could get any more answers out of his brain, there was a startling sound in the silence of the void, jarring the teenage ghost out of his thoughts. The noise was soft, sweet, an almost melodic tune that followed through the entire space. It was like a song, short and bittersweet, filled with the longing and desire of a man who wished to remember. </p><p>Realizing that his eyes had been closed in quiet reflection, Tommy slowly opened his eyes again, turning to see that another figure had joined him inside of the realm. Unfolding himself from his place where he had laid on the floor - or was he floating? Tommy couldn’t tell-the young man tried to get closer, curious as to who it was.  They were humming a tune that sounded so familiar<em> (I heard there was a secret place…  Where men could go and emancipate…),</em> seemingly intent with whatever they had just done, appearing with a smile on their face. </p><p>The figure seemed to sense that Tommy was there, almost a second instinct, as if they had been accustomed to feeling when something had changed inside of the void that they were in. When they turned around, Tommy was surprised to see the figure that he had associated with a ghost in the first place. A smile plastered across his face, soft yellow sweater that radiated like sunshine, Ghostbur stood in front of him. </p><p>He had changed since the last time Tommy had seen him (or at least, the last time that his memories had provided him), a now deep maroon beanie on his head, a guitar slung across his back. There wasn’t as much innocence in his eyes, the slightly greyed irises of the ghost now filled with more knowledge and insight. Ghostbur seemed more like what Tommy’s memories of  Wilbur were- and he wasn’t sure if that was comforting or completely and utterly terrifying. </p><p>Suddenly, every painstaking memory of Wilbur rushed back into Tommy all at once, overwhelming him like a wave crashing ferociously into the shore.</p><p>There were the softer memories of simpler times around a campfire with Wilbur singing soft songs beside him as the heat of the fire lured Tommy to sleep. The laughter that the both of them couldn’t stop as they created a fake drug empire and lived inside of a caravan, the elation of winning a nation and gaining independence. The soft smiles and overbearing words of an older brother whenever Tommy got into too much trouble, and the overexaggerated groans when one of Tommy’s jokes didn’t land or when he had a dumb idea. The times when he would just allow Wilbur to talk for hours about the new song he was going to create or the amazing idea he had to improve his blooming country on the tops of the walls of the nation they built as they watched the sunset and the twinkling night sky, the conversations lasting until the sun rose again. </p><p>But then there were the bad ones. Whispers of <em>“Let’s be the bad guys”</em> surrounding the blazing fire igniting inside of Wilbur’s eyes inside of an underground ravine in a place long forgotten, stacks and stacks of TNT looming around every corner. The panic of seeing his brother deteriorate at the loss of everything that he had once held dear, pushing away anyone important that could save him from the alluring call of villainy.  A loss of Tommy’s comfort within Wilbur’s embrace, replaced with harsh words of  <em>“You’re never going to be President,”</em> and the belief that everything would crumple underneath the Rebellion and that  Wilbur  would rise victorious, Manberg-  no, L’Manberg, would be nothing but rubble and ashes underneath his feet. The sorrow Tommy felt when Wilbur eventually did end up winning, and the vicious and cruel smile the young teenager remembered seeing as the figment Wilbur drove him to-</p><p>“Oh! Tommy!” The ghost exclaimed, drawing the young teenage ghost out of the overwhelming amount of feelings and memories bombarding his brain. There was still a soft smile on Ghostbur’s face as he looked at his brother, as if he was familiar with the situation that was about to occur. “It’s been a while since you visited me in here. What memories are you going to help me remember today?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Oh, you know, how I summon someone I know sometimes by accident into my void to help me remember a part of my past and to help me through it?” Ghostbur softly explained, somewhat confused himself that this figment of Tommy didn’t remember why he was here. “That’s strange. Normally you’re aware of  what you’re doing here, Tommyinnit. Why-”</p><p>Then a painstaking pause. </p><p>A realization, of some sorts, as Wilbur analyzed this person he thought was a figment of his imagination in front of him. It wasn’t a figment that he was so used to being around in his void. No- this was this  actual brother. Gone was the bright blonde hair and vibrant blue eyes and too red t-shirt that Tommy would normally greet him with inside of the void. </p><p>It had been replaced. Replaced with a dimmed and saddened look in Tommy’s eyes, hair ablaze with small flickering flames, with clothes ripped and rotted, showing scars of burns and damaged skin. This wasn’t the Tommyinnit Ghostbur had wanted to see- not the one that he had been used to. </p><p>This Tommyinnit wasn’t even Tommy. </p><p>“Oh, Tommy. What did you do?"  Ghostbur’s voice fell immediately,  rushing towards his brother, trying to analyze every little thing about him. This had to be some sort of sick joke, right? Every part of Ghostbur’s being pleaded for the same thing, hoping that this version of Tommy he was seeing in from of him was just some sort of cruel fantasy that his mind was playing on him, that his brother wasn’t actually-</p><p>But the figure didn’t disappear, and the sadness inside of Wilbur only blossomed yet again, this time more deeply and with more sorrow than the ghost had ever felt before, the memories that he had retained and remembered now screaming inside of him, mourning the loss of someone that he cared about so deeply. He could feel the Wilbur (real Wilbur that had been forming again inside of him, not the naive Ghostbur facade that he put on for everyone in the overworld) begin to show inside of the void-like starry realm, surfacing as he wanted answers from his younger brother. “Tommy-”</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about it.” The young ghost grumbled, giving a wince as bright flashes of deep red and orange lava bubbled inside of his mind, jarring voices and fragments of memories from his final moments painful to recall. They weren’t pleasant, that was for sure. “It hurts to remember.”  There was an obvious anger in Tommy’s voice as he spoke, pain hard to forget as his mind came up with questions upon questions that he wished could be answered. Why couldn't he just forgotten everything?  Why couldn't his plan just have worked the way that it was supposed to? Why couldn’t he just stay dead? </p><p>“Tommy.” Ghostbur asked, the high-pitched voice the young teenager was so accustomed to sounding more like  the actual Wilbur than his ghost. “Why did you-” The ghost shook his head, realizing that this question would probably not be the best to ask- he as a ghost himself didn’t like to be asked the why, when the memories were so hard to search  through to find an answer. “How long ago did you show up here?” </p><p>“I- I don’t know.” Tommy struggled for an answer, time no longer a concept he could fully grasp his  head around. “But it couldn’t have been too long, I suppose.” He mumbled, scratching his head for a moment before yelping, the heat  of his skin shocking him again. “I don’t know how long I’ve- “</p><p>“Been dead?” Ghostbur supplied him, carefully nudging his younger brother towards answers. “That’s okay, Toms.” A nickname that hadn’t been used in years- not since the two were kids- found its way to the surface alongside the memories that were being recalled  by the two ghosts, a sort of sorrowful and longing feeling rushing through Wilbur as he desired for the simpler  days of the past, when the biggest worry was sparring with Technoblade and Philza watching over them to ensure none of them got hurt. “But I have to know, so that the others-”</p><p>“The others?” Tommy questioned, a dull feeling of abandonment rushing through him as he realized what <em>the others</em> meant. Those who had driven him to stand at the edge, those who weren’t there for him. While the ghost longed to forget the memories at the cliff, there was one feeling that stuck with him, that stabbed him deep within the soul. The small sliver of hope that someone would come and find him and save him  from himself,  that someone would actually care enough to see him withering away there and pull him off of the edge. “The others don’t care about me, Ghostbur.”</p><p>Tommy watched as his brother winced at the name Ghostbur, the  other ghost inside of the realm shaking his head. “Just call me Wilbur. I have enough of my memories to know I’m not the naive ghost I pretend to be in  the overworld. I just act like that because it’s… easier than coming to terms with everyone. I’m not quite ready just yet.” The high pitched tone of Ghostbur’s voice slightly crept back into Wilbur’s voice as he spoke, but his younger brother’s  ghost  seemed to understand the feeling behind being called his original name. </p><p>“But Tommy,  the others do care about you.” Wilbur put his mind  back onto the topic at hand, seeing the young teenager’s face fall, devoid of any expression that would think of the others in  the overworld fondly at all. “While not all of  them were visiting you,  they were caring for you from afar. Even Tubbo-” The young man paused, waiting to see if  the name would cause any reaction out of Tommy, but when there was none, it worried Wilbur more than if there was a negative one.</p><p>“Who?” Tommy quirked his head slightly to the side, his “static” as he called it offering no answer to what that name would possibly mean. The young ghost watched as Ghostbur- no, Wilbur’s face dropped immediately at him asking that question,  curious as to why he seemed so upset all of a sudden. </p><p>“Oh, Tommy, do you not remember Tubbo? Your best-”</p><p>“Listen-” Tommy interrupted his friend, something inside of him telling that maybe having Wilbur tell him whatever information was about to come out  wasn’t the best idea- that it wasn’t something that he wanted to remember. “It doesn’t matter. None of them cared about me in the end. They weren’t there for me- and even my fucked up memory and staticy as shit brain can tell me about that. They won’t even be around to ever find my body. Not because  it’s somewhere  in a lava pool and it’s hard to find- but because no one will visit or check their communicator with any messages in correlation to me, Wilbur. They never did before, and they won’t now. Me being gone won’t change a thing.”</p><p>“But you owe them at least the fact that you’re gone, Toms. The knowledge so that they can deal with it and move on. If they never know, they can never mourn. They can never move on.” There was the familiar Wilbur Tommy recognized, and there was a part of him that hated this. He wanted the old Ghostbur back, that wouldn’t make him feel like shit and make him rethink his decisions and his actions. Hell, he just wanted to be left alone. “You didn’t give them any goodbye, did you?”</p><p>“I-” Tommy faltered, a flash in his mind echoing a memory of him figuring that no one would really care if he left, so no note as he wandered into the nether, all of his valuables stored in his ender chest (that everyone would get access to once he  died, of course,  finders keepers- but it wasn’t like there was much inside of there that was of value) and nothing else left behind. “I-”  He stopped again, going silent,  unsure of how to answer the question that had been asked of him. </p><p>The silence was all that Wilbur needed to find his answer. </p><p>“Oh.” A small and painful noise escaped Wilbur’s mouth as his heart shattered, thinking back to a broken Tommy, an alive Tommy, who before taking his own life in the bubbling depths of a lava lake, truly thought that  there was no one there to care enough for him to leave a note explaining why he was doing what he was doing or why he had been driven to do such a thing. “No.” He muttered,  moving towards his younger brother, seeing him slowly crumple in on  himself, the memories he was revealing almost too much to bear. Suddenly, Tommy was wrapped in the embrace of his older brother, </p><p>“You can’t tell anyone, Will.” Tommy cried into his older brother’s transparent arms, the embrace the  first contact he had felt for so long, the hug cool and chilling (as a ghost to ghost hug would be) but comforting all the same. He crumpled into it, like he had crumpled into the hugs of Wilbur inside of Pogtopia before he had gone batshit crazy after nightmares of  memories that he longed to forget. “Please. Just let it be. I can’t- it hurts to think about it all.  It hurts to try and remember and come to terms with it and confront it all.” He rushed out in one breath, trying not to panic through sob after sob. </p><p>“I won’t.” Wilbur whispered to his younger brother, trying to console him off of the edge of tears, realizing the strain of remembering painful memories was exhausting for the young teenager. Wilbur had been used to the pain of bringing up blocked memories of the past, sure, but Tommy wasn’t. “I won’t, Toms. Just close your eyes  and drift off again, and try not to let the memories overwhelm you as you do, okay?”</p><p>When all Wilbur got back was a sniffle and a sigh,  Tommy going quiet into a sleep-like state, the young man knew that keeping it a secret was the last thing that he was going to do. No, he wasn’t going to tell the people who Tommy cared about straight up, but he was going to lead them on the path towards realization. They needed to know what had happened to Tommy, and Tommy needed to know that there were still people that cared about him. </p><p>Because that was what they deserved. Tommy and Phil and Techno and Tubbo.</p><p>Closure. </p><p>And maybe, just maybe, if he helped Tommy get his closure, it would mean that Wilbur would finally get his as well. Maybe then, the two heroes of the history of L’Manberg and the legends that they were perceived to be would get to rest. </p><p>Maybe they would get their happy endings.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Misery Business</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>They deserved to know. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Technoblade, Phil, Tubbo. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>They all deserved to know what happened to the one that they love. Or loved- Wilbur wasn’t sure if that would still apply, considering how abandoned Tommy. It wasn’t fair to allow them to just sit in blissful innocence, never truly knowing the consequences of what their actions had done to their beloved loud and full of spunk teenager. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In which Wilbur begins his quest to bring the truth of what happened to Tommyinnit to light, while also making those who did not help him ache with the pain he felt upon the discovery of his surrogate brother's death.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>get ready for some Wilbur shenanigans and spite, combined with way too much angst and some Sleepy Bois Inc. head canons that you may not like- this chapter is a LONG one, and I didn't intend for it to be like more than 3,000 words and yet it turned out to be the longest one yet. </p>
<p>goddamn, you guys, your support has just been insane and it's been the motive pushing me to write more and more and more for this fic. </p>
<p>and also bicole. whatever she says, I do have to comply with. AND, when she sees this in the morning (12/22) she'll realize that this is part of her secret santa gift- surprise !! I WAS YOURS!! and this is just an added bonus to what I'll send you when you're actually awake.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wibur left Tommy while he was sleeping.</p>
<p>Peaceful in his slumber, there was a sense that Tommy would be okay when Wilbur left. Wilbur- not Ghostbur- not the twisted and crazed version of himself that he died as (so commonly now titled as Alivebur)- knew that  the peace wouldn’t last long, that memories would slowly piece themselves together like a jigsaw puzzle inside of Tommy’s mind as he spent time inside of the space-void that bore no name. </p>
<p>That was why the ghost had left behind a newly bound journal, and a quill and ink. Just in case Tommy had wanted to do what he had done at first, to write down all of the memories. It had been a release of all of the pain that Ghostbur had felt when he had found himself standing beside his dead body in that exploded room, and Will hoped it would be a good release for Tommy as well.</p>
<p>He had seen the pain inside of Tommy’s eyes, the flashes of horrific memories that Wilbur hadn’t relived until later on as his time as a ghost, when he had first appeared in front of Wilbur. Happy memories didn’t seem to be the first thing that Tommy’s brain had wanted him to have, unlike Wilbur, instead bending to the teenager’s questions with a painstaking care that still tore Tommy apart. </p>
<p>Wilbur hated it. He hated the fact that Tommy’s brain hadn’t been old enough to keep those memories locked away until he was ready. He hated the fact that Tommy had to come back as a ghost, and not just pass away peacefully, like every other death that the teenager had experienced. He hated the constant pain-filled glare that Tommy would give him every time he looked in his direction before he slept. He hated the desperate sobs of a kid who grew up too fast, abandoned by everyone that he had cared about, memories not allowing him to remember anything but <em>bad bad bad. </em></p>
<p>But through all of that pain and uncertainty about Tommy, there was something inside of him, something so obviously and evidently not Ghostbur that told him to leave in that moment of silence, some sort of brotherly instinct that the ghost hadn’t felt except in distant memories and whispers of dreams that haunted him. To go out into the overworld and set things right in a world that was now so much more dim, the color slightly duller and drained now that a bright personality had been extinguished. </p>
<p>Because they deserved to know. </p>
<p>Technoblade, Phil, Tubbo. </p>
<p>They all deserved to know what happened to the one that they love. Or loved- Wilbur wasn’t sure if that would still apply, considering how abandoned Tommy. It wasn’t fair to allow them to just sit in blissful innocence, never truly knowing the consequences of what their actions had done to their beloved loud and full of spunk teenager. </p>
<p>A morbid part of Wilbur wanted them to <em>scream,</em> to <em>cry,</em> to <em>suffer</em> under the weight of realizing that they hadn’t done enough for Tommy.  Phil to understand that the abandonment of his two youngest had led them astray, now only astral projections in a void of stars and dusty ebony space. Technoblade to understand what it was like to never be loved and be the center of attention, to claw for the bright lights and the glory that Will and Tommy had never experienced. Technoblade and Phil together, the two that would never seem to separate no matter how much they neglected the rest of their family.  They hadn’t done enough for Tommy. Just like they hadn’t done enough for Will- just let him crumple under his own weight of insanity and thoughts that drove him to madness.  </p>
<p>Tubbo- well, that was a different beast in it of itself. A friend fallen prey to the manipulations of Dream, setting aside any feelings or personal connections for a mound of exploded rock and land that no longer had any meaning. That meaning had begun its death with Wilbur, and finally been finalized with Tommy- the two who had started it all. Some part of Wilbur knew that Tubbo already blamed himself for the exile, regret heavy inside of the teenager’s sunken heart- but it didn’t make him feel any better for the teen. </p>
<p> It wasn’t fair for them to just never know and never be able to move on. </p>
<p>Wilbur had to be the one to deliver the news, like a messenger after one had lost a loved one in the war. But his delivery wouldn’t be as simple as a letter- no. None of them deserved that sort of easy letdown in his mind. It wasn’t fair to them, and it wasn’t fair to Tommy. They would have to pick up the pieces and solve the puzzle, just like how Tommy was having to with the pieces of his own mind and the memories he once had- some sort of cruel twist on the whole situation. </p>
<p>Of course, the puzzle pieces would have to be fit for each person. A different code to crack for Techno, for Phil, for Tubbo. Wilbur wouldn’t make it too difficult- no- but just hard enough that one wouldn’t be able to figure it out before the others. </p>
<p>He hoped it would be a dull and slow realization, all of them finding out, in some twisted way, together. Whether that was at the same location, time, or who knew what else. That they would slowly understand how quickly the world had shifted, and how nothing would ever be the same. </p>
<p>It was in that moment that Wilbur realized he most definitely wasn’t Ghostbur. The facade of a happy ghost with some memories retained would be hard to keep up- especially around those who knew him best, and it would most certainly crack- but if it was for Tommy, Will didn’t give a <em>damn.</em></p>
<p>He would’ve hung the moon and the stars for his younger surrogate brother. </p>
<p>And he would ruin the lives of three others to ensure that they would feel the pain that came with knowing the truth. </p>
<p>Okay, maybe that was a little overdramatic, and a little harsh, especially considering there was a voice inside of him (most likely Ghostbur) whispering to him that they also just deserved to know because it was the right thing to do, but Wilbur really didn’t care. </p>
<p>He was always one for theatrics. </p>
<p>Closing his eyes, the dark void that he was so used to was replaced with the familiar bright sun and chill of the overworld, the SMP that Wilbur had once called home retaining a certain sort of cold in contrast to the warmth of the space zone. Wilbur took a deep breath in as he opened his eyes again to see the sun shining onto the SMP, trying to adjust to his surroundings. </p>
<p>He was in Logsteadshire. Well, the remains of Logsteadshire. When he had seen that Tommy hadn’t been at his campsite, that was when he had decided the SMP wasn’t worth his effort that day, and had decided to go back to his void. God, he really needed a better name for that place. </p>
<p>That had been when Wilbur had found Tommy there, and his world that he had slowly constructed for himself as a ghost had begun to fall apart. </p>
<p>Shaking himself out of the memory of what he had just experienced, Wilbur took in another breath, trying not to sigh at the fact that he <em>really did not want to be here. </em> But he had an obligation to Tommy, even if Tommy told him that no one cared enough about him  to even care if he was dead. And, Will had to admit, as much as his spite wanted the three he was dead set on finding to suffer in the moment (well, more Techno and Phil, there was a slight twinge of guilt when the thought of “telling” Tubbo came into Wilbur’s mind, knowing the teenager was nothing but a puppet of Dream at the moment), he also wanted to show Tommy that there were people who cared about him. </p>
<p>There were people who deserved to have closure with him. </p>
<p>Wilbur was getting distracted from the task at hand, his mind and the memories and personalities inside of him that were at war getting a little too carried away for his taste. Technoblade, Phil, Tubbo. He had to tell them. Go down the list, and luckily enough for him, some wandering as a ghost provided him with the knowledge that Techno’s base wasn’t too far from Logstedshire, coincidentally. </p>
<p>So Techno was first, then. </p>
<p>His translucent feet trudging through the snow as he made his way through the tundra to Techno’s  base, Wilbur tried to come up with a plan to tell his oldest brother that would best suit him. Technoblade  wasn’t stupid, and he would surely see through the “Ghostbur” facade that Wilbur would not-so-amazingly put on. </p>
<p>But that was fine. It would become part of  the plan. The plan that would lead Technoblade to grapple with his thoughts of his youngest brother before he would get to the place that Wilbur would want him to be when he discovered something so vital of Tommy’s inside of a place that Techno would be too far familiar with. </p>
<p>Dipping his hands into his pockets, Wilbur felt the familiar grasp of the blue that Ghostbur had loved to carry around, his fingertips already beginning to be stained with the bright color that reflected the hue of the ocean.  In a  way,  it reminded him of Tommy’s fingers, which he had quietly noticed were charred black, like they had been burnt, in the void. </p>
<p>Wilbur tried not to throw up as he thought about the fact that his stained hands now reminded him of his dead and ghostly brother, whose traits from his manner of death were so obvious and painful to see. He tried not to think of anything but delivering the clue, delivering part of the message, as he continued to push forward through the snow, his own thoughts overwhelming him in a way that almost blurred his focus. </p>
<p>
  <em>Focus. Focus. Focus. </em>
</p>
<p>And there it was, Technoblade’s humble little retirement home- so he had called it, which really made Wilbur laugh. Anyone who even remotely knew that war and the carnage and remains of it flowed through Techno’s veins- and that this retirement home was nothing of a sort. Just a place to wait out until the tides turned in his favor, so he could wreak havoc against those who had wronged him again.  </p>
<p>Smoke coming out of the stack, there was a sense of peace that came with the house along with the signal that clearly stated that someone was inside. Wilbur stumbled towards the quaint cottage, scaling the steps to the side of the house quietly and cautiously, his ghost hand raised to knock on the door when it was swung right open to greet him. </p>
<p>“Ghostbur.” Techno seemed surprised, caught off guard by his ghostly brother’s visit to his humble abode, cloak, armor, and weapons all set aside as he relaxed in a simple tunic. “What’re you doing out all of this way?” Asking softly and monotonously, there was a sort of analytic look that was plastered all over Technoblade’s face, seeing the dull and familiar stare that he used to associate with Wilbur brighten into Ghostbur- a strange incident, one that he would keep his eyes on as he let the ghost into his house. </p>
<p>“Technoblade!” Wilbur’s voice rang in a higher pitch, trying to quickly switch into Ghostbur’s persona, the innocence of the ghost’s personality pushing to the surface as Ghostbur was just happy to be used in a situation. “I haven’t seen you in forever.” There was a gesture to come in as Techno slowly stepped to the side, the ghost giving a small shiver from the cold as he stepped in-  the warmth an overwhelming contrast from the harsh world outside.</p>
<p>“...Well, that’s kind of the point of a retirement, Ghostbur.” Techno paused for a moment as he stared at the ghost that gave a shiver- normally ghosts  never got cold, not from the babbling stories that Ghostbur had told him and Phil when they had stumbled across him one night, somehow finding their base. </p>
<p>“Oh.” Wilbur’s face visibly dropped as he surveyed the room, seeing nothing too out of the ordinary. It seemed like quite the regular cottage, a small kitchen towards the back, the doors leading to it if one took a sharp right. A small place to sit and a fireplace that roared in front of it, clothes drying from the wet and harsh grasp of the snow. Everything did seem normal, except for- </p>
<p>Oh. A green and white striped bucket hat, left carelessly thrown on a table in the corner, right by the fireplace. Technoblade observed as a flash of hurt was evident inside of Ghostbur’s eyes- an almost envy and jealousy coming out at the fact that Techno had one of Phil’s things strewn so carelessly inside of his home. It was a sore subject, even with the ghost, so it seemed. </p>
<p>Except-</p>
<p>That flash wasn’t replaced with the happy glow of Ghostbur again, Wilbur stepping towards the hat, his translucent finger faintly tracing the outline of the hat, the realization that their surrogate father had a new one that didn’t merit the use of the one that Wilbur had made his father so long ago. It was the one thing that Phil had cherished from Wilbur and Tommy, the two of them spending week after week laboring after the hat that would complete their father’s outfit, deciding that if their father was to truly be a dad, he would need to be unfashionable like one. </p>
<p>And it had been thrown out, tossed away like the two and their gesture didn’t matter- after all these years. </p>
<p>Funny where the two of them had ended up. </p>
<p>Sensing something was wrong- very wrong- with Ghostbur, Techno began to slowly make his way to the ghost, seeing that his eyes were still focused on the bucket hat. His strides allowed him to get close enough to where he could place his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, careful to gently place it there. His younger brother still flinched nonetheless. “Wilbur-”</p>
<p>A cold laugh was the response to the call of his own name, saddened yet not surprised all of the same. Sure, Wilbur had accounted for the fact that Techno would figure out that the facade was merely an act, but not for the fact that the feeling of abandonment that had festered inside of his chest would only grow during the visit. “Knew you’d figure it out.” Will jerked his shoulder harshly, willing himself to go to a state in which Techno could no longer touch him. “Figured it was only a matter of time, but this-” </p>
<p>“This stung a lot more than I thought it would.” </p>
<p>“Will- you know that Phil loved you. And Tommy.” Technoblade tacked on his youngest brother at the end, his mind thinking off to the boisterous teenager. It was strange, normally wherever Tommy was, Ghostbur was quick to follow- especially during the daytime. Why wasn’t Wilbur by his brother’s side? </p>
<p>“Not enough, apparently.” Wilbur scoffed, the pain that he felt staring at the bucket hat a sharp stab into his heart, too much for the young man to bear. He turned away from where it laid so innocently on the table, clearing his throat as he prepared for the next step in the conversation- the clue. </p>
<p>Then he could leave this damn place. </p>
<p>“Tommy, either.” Wilbur added Tommy hastily into the sentence, just in the manner that Technoblade had done seconds before. He watched as his older brother winced at the way that Wilbur was using his own words against him, a sick sort of satisfaction twisting inside of him when he saw the pain flash inside of their father’s favorite’s eyes. </p>
<p>“Speaking of Tommy-” Techno quickly shifted to change  the subject, turning to something that was of much more concern to him. “You’re normally right by his side- Ghostbur or Wilbur. Where has he run off to?” This caused a change in Wilbur’s demeanor, quirking an eyebrow in sort of surprise at his older brother. </p>
<p>“When was the last time that you cared? Last I heard, you told him that heroes don’t get happy endings.” Wilbur nonchalantly shrugged, turning to stare out at one of the windows as the sun slowly started to give way to grey clouds that indicated a snowstorm was on its way. “Great wording on that, by the way. Theatrics aside, it’s really a great way to scar a <em>sixteen year old.” </em></p>
<p>“Wilbur-” Technoblade sighed, tired of the hostility that was so obvious inside of his brother, almost longing for the days in which Wilbur slowly grew insane under the strings of being a puppet for Dream- when their ideals were in alignment for once. When they had gotten along- for once in their lives. “Please. Just tell me. Last  time Ghostbur came around, he told us that there was a scare within the Nether. I’m worried about him, Will. We both know Tommy is on his last.”</p>
<p>“If you’re so worried about him, then go find him.” Will responded, plain and simple. He knew the path he was setting his brother on would lead to ruin, lead to the discovery of an item inside of a heated and thick atmosphere of another realm that would tell the oldest surrogate brother of Tommy everything that he needed to know. “You’re the human GPS here. Figure it out.” </p>
<p>With that, Wilbur walked out of Technoblade’s cottage, leaving the man with a new goal and a growing worry that was blossoming in his chest for his two younger brothers- a family fractured into pieces. </p>
<p>One down, two to go. </p>
<p>Phil was next on Wilbur’s list, the plan with Phil much, much more simple than Techno’s. It wasn’t going to be a conversation in which he had to coerce the surrogate father figure to actually go out and actively seek an item that had been left behind by Tommy. </p>
<p>No. It was a whole chestful of items. </p>
<p>Finding Phil located inside of his L’Manberg house, Wilbur was surprised that Phil was still inside of his old country’s borders. Working inside of his small and humble abode that was above the carnage of his own explosion and place of death, Phil didn’t even notice his son knock on his door. </p>
<p>The circumstances of why Phil was still in L’Manberg surprised the ghost, which was unusual- his father was normally someone that was as easy to read as a book. He stayed in places that were of importance to him and his family (though most of the time that meant Technoblade). There was nothing left for the man here, that was so obvious, so why was he still remaining inside? There was no Tommy to stay for, no Wilbur to honor inside of L’Manberg either. </p>
<p>Those thoughts didn’t matter though, as Wilbur let himself into his father’s house, taking in his father- seeing him for the first time since a change in outfit. He was dressed the same way as Techno had been (always a duo, Wilbur bitterly thought), donned in a light blue that made him seem almost like royalty, golden chains and small adornments decorating his normal kimono-like outfit, styled light blue instead of its deep emerald green the man had been so accustomed to in his childhood. Adorned on his head was a new bucket hat, the man still keeping the unfashionable headwear, but instead with light blue stripes dyed much more cleanly than the shaky lines of his hat past.</p>
<p>Something inside of Wilbur bitterly told him that Techno had probably made it for him, only another affirmation of the rejection that his father was giving his two youngest. Then, a funny and saddening fact crossed Wilbur’s mind as he tried to draw himself  out of the thoughts racing in his head. </p>
<p>At least when Wilbur died, he had finally become the main focus of Phil for once in his life. </p>
<p>Clearing his throat, his tone already molding to be more high-pitched, as the expectation with Ghostbur was, Will watched his father jump from where he sat, working on something so carefully at the crafting bench in the corner of the room. Phil was caught off guard, but when he turned to see his middle child’s ghost in front of him, the tension in his shoulders relaxed greatly. </p>
<p>“Wil-Ghostbur!” The man corrected himself, giving a lighthearted smile as he saw his son, placing the tools that he had been working with down on the crafting table so carefully, turning towards Wilbur to give him his full attention. “It’s been a while since you’ve been in L’Manberg to check on everyone. I’m glad you came.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad to be back too, Philza.” Wilbur spoke in Ghostbur’s high voice again, watching as his father winced at the use of his full name, probably thinking back to the last time that Will had actually used his full name. When he had killed Wilbur, of course. Maybe it had been the wrong play- but it most certainly got his attention. </p>
<p>“ What seems to be the matter, Will?” Phil plainly questioned, knowing that there wasn’t a reason for Ghostbur to really be back inside of his own country without a motive. He could see the way the ghost of his son sort of seemed more cautious and weary inside of L’Manberg- but he didn’t see that in Will now. Which was strange, the father had to admit, but he assumed it was because of some important thing Wilbur had set his mind on. </p>
<p>“Well, I know that Tommy had been missing you!” The simplicity in “Ghostbur’s” plea was obvious, the underlying tone begging for his father to visit his youngest son. “You haven’t been around since the day before the beach party, and last night before the campfire went out, Tommy was talking about how much he wanted you to come visit.” </p>
<p>“And so you want me to come and see him?” Phil answered the rest of Wilbur’s explanation, seeing the ghost give an ecstatic nod at the prospect. There was a second in which he debated it- whether it would really be worth it to go out of his way for his son- but the thought was diminished when Ghostbur spoke again.</p>
<p>“Yes! You can be one of the Lads on Tour for a day!” Wilbur smiled widely, clapping his hands together in fake excitement. “Tommy would be so excited to see you- his only visitor beside me has been Dream, you know. And I think there’s only so much of Dream that Tommy can handle.”</p>
<p>“That is very true.” Phil chuckled, rising from his seat to ruffle Ghostbur’s hair, seeing his son freeze up a little bit at the action- another odd occurrence from the almost always optimistic ghost. There were thoughts that were racing in his head that he tried to hide behind a facade of grins in front of his son- the realization that he had lost one of his sons and had no desire to lose the other one that he hadn’t seen in so long to Dream, another puppet inside of his sick twisted show. “Suppose I’ll leave now, eh?” He looked back at his crafting table and the work he left unfinished. Tommy took priority in that moment, whatever he was working on irrelevant in contrast to the fact that his youngest son was being left alone with a man who desired to play god. </p>
<p>“Yes!” The excited tone in Wilbur’s voice seemed a little more  dim after the fond  show of affection Phil had given him, but Ghostbur remained ecstatic all the same. Wilbur watched as his father walked past him, waiting in the doorway for him to follow, a silent gesture, but one all the same. There was hesitation before Will spoke again, hoping that his father would continue to go on to an empty Logstedshire to allow him to finish his final conversation. “You go on ahead. I just have to tell Tubbo something.” </p>
<p>“Okay then.” Phil nodded, not caring what his ghost son had to talk to Tubbo about, more concerned about <em>Tommy Tommy Tommy,</em> his mind going into overdrive with the fear that the teenager would end up crazed like Wilbur had before he had died. “I’ll see you there, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yes!” Ghostbur smiled,  waiting before  his father  disappeared to drop the facade for a moment, turning to the chests and storage inside of Phil’s house to complete his final task. His hands crawling through the different storage units, he found the final things that he needed to complete his mission in the overworld. </p>
<p>Carefully crafted, glinting with a purple enchantment and a tug that Wilbur knew would fail, a  compass  now lay inside of the ghost’s hand,  a simple name tag plastered on the object. <em>Your Tommy 2, </em> it had been called. It was obvious in that moment what Wilbur intended for Tubbo to do with that compass, and how he would come to find out how his friend had left him behind. </p>
<p>Now all Wilbur had to do was  give it to him. </p>
<p>The last conversation was the easiest. A simple exchange, an act of kindness that Wilbur knew would lead to absolute devastation. </p>
<p>Wilbur had spotted Tubbo pacing inside of the White House, newly rebuilt for the young president, so that he would have a place to sleep in case he ever actually did sleep on the job. Wilbur knew that as president there really wasn’t too much that would allow the poor kid to sleep, and there was a moment of pity that Wilbur felt as he realized this was the position that he had put him in. </p>
<p><em>But he hadn’t been the person to send Tommy away,</em> a part of his mind reminded him. </p>
<p>“Tubbo!” The ghost called out to the pacing teenager, seeing Tubbo perk up at the sight of Ghostbur, the bags under his eyes becoming more obvious as Wilbur moved towards him. “Hello, Tubbo!” He smiled again, Wibur’s right hand hidden behind his back, trying to keep the object somewhat of a surprise. </p>
<p>“Hello Ghostbur.” A wary smile spread across Tubbo’s face, grateful to see someone who would remind him of his friend somewhat. “I’m sorry it’s been a while.” He rubbed his eyes, the exhaustion that he felt getting to him in some way. “How’s Tommy been?”</p>
<p>“Well…” Ghostbur trailed off, slowly peeling his hand from behind his back, slowly opening his hand to reveal the compass as he continued to talk to Tubbo. “I know that you still miss Tommy tons, and your first compass accidentally got destroyed by that super creeper, so I decided to make you a new one!” He exclaimed, his hands revealing the glimmering compass that  he had crafted with Phil’s supplies only minutes before. It had been made the same way the original had been, tied to the same compass. </p>
<p>He watched as Tubbo’s face lit up as his hands carefully wrapped around the compass, disbelief surprisingly plastered across the teenager’s face. “Ghostbur-” He paused for a moment, seeing the <em>Your Tommy 2</em> written across the back, appreciating the object before continuing. “This is too kind, truly.”</p>
<p>“It was nothing.” The ghost dismissed, shaking his head lightly as his heart sank at how excited Tubbo sounded. The poor kid had no idea what was in store for him at the other end of the compass- if it even worked. “I don’t know if the magic is as strong, but-”</p>
<p>“It doesn’t matter.” Tubbo shook his head, locking eyes with Ghostbur as he continued to talk, sort of rushing his words out all in the same breath. There were so many thoughts running around in his mind, the young teenager really unable to process them all inside of the moment. This was his chance, his opportunity to find Tommy and to make up for everything that he had done. “I’ve been meaning to tell Tommy that it was all a mistake, that I miss him and I want to let him back into L’Manberg and everything, and now-” He stopped, taking a breath before continuing. “Now you’ve given me a way to do it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh, the poor kid. </p>
<p>“Well, before you go out seeking Tommy, you should probably get some rest.” Wilbur spoke, pointing out the sky, which had now turned different hues of orange and pink as the sun began to set. “It wouldn’t be smart to go out at night, Tubbo, especially since he’s so far away.” </p>
<p>“You’re right.” Tubbo let out a yawn, growing more and more tired now that Ghostbur had mentioned it. “I suppose a couple of hours of sleep won’t hurt, surely?” He posed the question to Wilbur, who seemed to shake his head, agreeing that sleep would take priority in the night. <br/>“Well, I’ll leave you to your sleep.” Wilbur smiled broadly again, waving goodbye as he stepped outside of the White House, hearing the grumbles of Tubbo as he slowly found his way to his bed. There was silence after the ghost shut the door to the presidential house, a sigh of sadness and so many mixed emotions coming out of Will. </p>
<p>Watching the sunset in front of him, there was a sense of accomplishment inside of Wilbur as he watched the colors of the sky in front of him bleed into a mess of colors that seemed to be like watercolor paints on a canvas. The sun had set on the day on which he had led a trio of people with one thing in common down a path that would lead to a revelation of loss. </p>
<p>Now all he had to do was wait.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>aaandddddd looking it over again as I add in the italics and edit some small parts of this chapter I realize that I !! hate !! the !! phil !! and !! tubbo !! interactions !! </p>
<p>but I am too tired to care because it is, in fact 2 am again when I am publishing this, and the first half of this is actually something I'm proud of for once  SO TAKE THAT , MY EGO HAS BEEN INFLAMED A TAD, and honestly, you know what, we gave it our all. this chapter is a set up one for the next three, so we will be enjoying that when it does come around. </p>
<p>the order of the people wilbur visited will be the order of the chapters, if you didn't figure that out already lol, so you guys are getting techno first, and then phil, and then tubbo. because we save the best for last right?</p>
<p>ANYWAYS YES! I KNOW THE SLEEPY BOIS ANGST IS STRONG. WE ALL KNOW PHIL ISN'T THE BEST DAD IN CANON. </p>
<p>and I just thought that we needed an accurate portrayal of everything, right? (; </p>
<p>okay yeah so that bucket hat thing was mean but we all know who phil favors and it ain't either of his two ghost children and he only starts to care about the younger one when dream is pulling the strings and that's just,,,, nope. and I needed another source of angst, because this plot in it of itself wasn't enough, so yeah.  that's my ramble excuse </p>
<p>anyways, you guys probably know the drill now, lol. kudos are appreciated and comments are encouraged, they make me work faster! and if you want to, go ahead and follow me on twitter. I'm about to start going feral on there if you wanna see me pop off (@whattheh0nkk )</p>
<p>thanks for the support! love you guys!</p>
<p>-ash</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Blue Sea, Red Sea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>Nether. Nether. Nether. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>The voices were whispering the same thing to Technoblade over and over again, a mantra that was attempting to push the piglin hybrid in the right direction. He could sense the sort of worry that was being conveyed from the whispers in his head, and it only made him more worried himself. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>Tommy was at stake here. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>Techno couldn’t afford to fail his last living brother- not like how he had failed Wilbur, watching him spiral into insanity  underneath Dream until it finally drove him dead. He couldn’t let Tommy have the same fate- he couldn’t let it happen. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>In which the oldest brother of a broken family tries to salvage the shattered pieces and find the youngest to help him glue it back together. He finds nothing but an obsolete item and a revelation instead. </p>
<p>Alternatively, Technoblade attempts to be a human GPS to track down Tommy, but only finds out that his youngest brother is gone- the hard way.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Technoblade was never one to worry. </p>
<p>He was always seen as the calm one out of the surrogate family that he had been begrudgingly adopted into. Wilbur had always been the one that was emotional and sought attention in any way that he could get it, Tommy the loud one always desperate to prove himself and cause chaos around him, Phil the exhausted father figure trying to grasp onto whatever string he could find to keep him and his boys sane. Technoblade was the one that was the protector, the one that would keep everyone calm and collected, the most fierce and terrifying of them all the one with no emotion, no fear. </p>
<p>But times had changed since then- a family fractured into pieces in places where it should not have been fractured. One brother now a ghost, another an exiled man with nothing left to fight for, the father unsure of where he stood in a new world that was confusing around every turn. </p>
<p>Yet Technoblade remained the constant, the one that stayed the same throughout it all. There was nothing that could shake the piglin hybrid, nothing that he was truly scared of. Everyone feared the day that Techno would attack again, his fury something not forgotten in the scars of a broken country that had been left a crater. They feared the man with no worries, with nothing that would ever break him.</p>
<p>Well, he had been the constant, that was, until Ghostbur had waltzed through his door and turned everything on its head. A simple bucket hat and a question had made everything that Techno had assumed was the normal suddenly become not so normal, the unthinkable now the reality of the world around him. </p>
<p>An unsettling feeling began to fester inside of Techno’s mind as he watched Ghostbur (no, <em>Wilbur</em>) walk away from his house, a bitterness that he had never seen before present inside of his younger surrogate brother. It startled him, shook him in a way that he wasn’t sure he had ever felt before. A chill ran through his spine as he watched the ghost trudge through the cold snow, a feeling that something had just been broken that wouldn’t be healed for a long time. An argument had occurred that wouldn’t be gotten over easily, not forgotten quickly. </p>
<p>Wilbur and him had gotten into fights before, but they would always put it aside for the greater good of the family. Whether that was Tommy or Phil- family <em>always</em> came first. That was the unspoken rule. Through thick and thin, no matter what happened, the betterment of the family came first.</p>
<p>Sure, that rule had been broken a couple of times before by the both of them, but no matter the mistakes, there was always the faith between the two of them that the rule would be upheld. Not for their sakes, but for their surrogate father and their surrogate brother’s sake. </p>
<p>And yet Wilbur had kept information from him on Tommy. Technoblade saw it in Wilbur’s eyes as he spoke with a hostility that was filled with anger, spite, and a hurt that was so well hidden but so evident at the same time. It was so strange- it was as if over the measly amount of time of being a ghost, something had shifted inside of Wilbur. </p>
<p>A deep and shuddering sigh shook Techno to the core, the hybrid shaking himself out of whatever internal monologue and over analyzation of his brother that was occurring in his mind. There were bigger things to focus on, including the fact that Tommy hadn’t been seen in days. </p>
<p>Which, before exile, was unheard of. The teenager was always leaving behind a wave of chaos in his wake, whether that was through his newest scam, dumb prank, or reckless activity that led to unintended consequences and a battle or skirmish that he always seemed to drag too many of his friends into. Tommy was always doing something, even in exile. While it wasn’t to the same degree, the ringing of a bell could echo through a valley, signifying Tommy was up to something again during some part of the day, or a loud laugh that came a little too close to Techno’s base for comfort.</p>
<p>But silence from Tommyinnit? It really meant that something had gone severely off the rails. It meant something bad had happened to Tommy- and that he needed help. </p>
<p>The voices in his head seemed to agree with that, ever since Wilbur had left looping the same words of <em>Tommy Tommy Tommy </em> over and over again until the nicknamed “Blood God” would listen to their pesters. The voices were always persistent, but they had never spoken with such urgency that they did in that moment.</p>
<p>Technoblade would be the absolute last person to admit that he actually cared for his younger brother, but with the urgency that the voices spoke, it made him more and more concerned. There had never been something to this degree that had been so worrisome to the voices. Normally things like this with regards to his family would be brushed off, but this time, the voices were demanding something other than blood. </p>
<p>They were demanding for someone to be found, to be saved. </p>
<p>Grabbing his netherite armor, dread beginning to pool in his stomach, Techno realized that if his younger brother was at the mercy of dream, or somewhere where he would have to be saved from another, he would definitely need protection. The <em>Axe of Peace</em> even somehow found its way out of his ender chest, slung across his back just in case he needed it. He hated axe combat, but he knew if he were to stand a chance against Dream- he would need a damn axe. </p>
<p>Finding his equipment secured and ready to go, a final couple of fire resistance potions snagged from their place inside of  a brewing stand (if there was a truth to Ghostbur’s words when he had come to Phil and him weeks prior, and he found Tommy in dire need of them, these would be essential), Technoblade heard the voices call out to him again, urging him to go out and begin the search. </p>
<p>Techno burst out into the cold and harsh weather of the tundra, the snow storm that had started when Wilbur had been inside of his humble cottage now a full-fledged storm of fury, the flurry of snow making it somewhat hard to see. Another deep breath in, and Technoblade closed his eyes, trying to analyze which way was the right one to go. </p>
<p>Logstedshire was somewhere towards the Northwest (or in the general direction of the north, that was all that really concerned Technoblade), and the portal that would lead him to the Nether was towards the east. There were two places to start his search and logically, Logstedshire was the place to start. Adjusting his armor with caution, scanning the area for any Strays that would slow him down and cause an annoyance with his armor, he began the trek forward. </p>
<p>Logstedshire it was. </p>
<p><em>No. </em> The voices were insistent with this word as soon as Techno had decided that Logstedshire was the place to start his search for his younger brother. The cacophony of the voices only increased as he continued to move towards Tommy’s campsite, eventually coming to loud shouts that impaired Technoblade’s thoughts and movements. </p>
<p>“Okay then.” He mumbled under his breath, annoyed at the fact that he really couldn’t get anywhere without having pushback from the thoughts and voices inside of his mind. Turning to see the faint outline of his home, Techno really wished he had brought Carl on the adventure. Maybe whatever the voices decided was the best place for him to go would allow him to bring his trusty steed along with him. “Where should we start?” </p>
<p>
  <em>Nether. Nether. Nether. </em>
</p>
<p>The voices were whispering the same thing to Technoblade over and over again, a mantra that was attempting to push the piglin hybrid in the right direction. The other location that Techno was going to start his search for Tommy, so it seemed. He could sense the sort of worry and urgency that was being conveyed from the whispers in his head constantly, and it only made him more worried himself, when remaining calm was the most important thing to have in the hunt for a person.  </p>
<p>Tommy was at stake here. </p>
<p>Techno couldn’t afford to fail his last living brother- not like how he had failed Wilbur, watching him spiral into insanity until it finally drove him dead. He couldn’t let Tommy have the same fate- he couldn’t let it happen. Whether captured by Dream or standing at the edge of a cliff that would decide whether he lived or died, what story would be told in the aftermath of a life lost too soon was really all that mattered to Technoblade. </p>
<p>He didn’t want his brother to die as a lost memory, something associated with sadness. As much as the man had hurt his youngest surrogate brother before, he really was only trying to do it to teach Tommy the harsh lessons of the world. The knowledge that the teenager only really learned his lessons through events that had dire consequences was well known, and Techno was truly only trying to teach. </p>
<p>Muttering curses underneath his breath, Technoblade turned around from where he was headed, moving with an intensity that had only been seen when he was going to kill (Blood for the Blood God, some of the voices whispered, a reminder of Techno’s past that he kept trying to abandon behind him, a flurry of screams against the saying rising against the others). If he was going to head for the Nether first, his portal a shorter distance than Logstedshire, he wouldn’t need Carl as he so previously thought. But the idea of using him wouldn’t be left out of his plans if he needed to eventually go to Tommy’s campsite. </p>
<p>Finding himself sharply turn to the east, Techno followed the familiar path towards his Nether portal, not an explicitly paved path but one that had been walked multiple times all the same. His thoughts were racing as he tried to think about what the plan would be if he was to find Tommy, the voices inside of his mind clashing with his own ideas. </p>
<p>If he was to find Tommy among the company of the green bastard Dream, he would try to peacefully lure his brother to his safety and comfort. In the case of that failing, the Blood God would have some work to do. The voices seemed to like this plan, whispering messages of encouragement and elation at the prospect of making Dream pay to whatever he did to Tommy- if the masked man even had him. </p>
<p>If Technoblade was to find Tommy doing something extremely stupid that would leave huge effects on the rest of the SMP, he would try to talk the teenager out of it. Be the voice of reason, even if it meant that Tommy would hate Techno even more than he already did. The voices inside of his mind hated this idea, much rather preferring for Techno to take action physically, to stop Tommy from self-destructing in front of so many others. </p>
<p>If Tommy wasn’t found? Well, Technoblade really didn’t want to think about what would happen if he couldn’t find him. It would mean that it meant something that the piglin hybrid didn’t even want to fathom- something the voices even refused to think about. </p>
<p>He would find him. </p>
<p>Finding himself in front of the glowing purple color of a Nether portal, Techno shook himself out of his thoughts, his hands instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword and a splash potion of fire resistance that was resting inside of his satchel. He took a moment to stare at the portal for a moment longer, an almost hesitant expression on his face, before the voices told him to go in, to take the leap and find Tommy. </p>
<p>The Nether greeted Techno before he knew it, the stifling heat and suffocating air never a pleasure to come back into acquaintance with. Sure, Techno was half piglin, but it didn’t mean that he had to like the Nether. The place smelled of death, rotted with a stench that one could never put their finger on- but it made one sick to the stomach and miserable. </p>
<p>Adjusting to the newer dim light and the deep maroon of the netherrack that surrounded him, Techno tried to get a grasp on where he was in contrast to where Ghostbur had spoken about finding Tommy on a bridge. The Nether wasn’t the largest realm there was in terms of locations, thousands of blocks in the Overworld maybe a mere hundred inside of the place.  </p>
<p>Wandering through the tunnels dug into the netherrack and against the cliffs that staggered into lava lakes below, it didn’t take Technoblade long to find the bridge, the voices screaming <em>Bridge! Bridge! Bridge!</em> over and over again. The man took longer strides in an attempt to get to the bridge faster, standing at the beginning of the long cobblestone and obsidian trail and seeing nothing for as far as he could see. </p>
<p>Tommy wasn’t there. </p>
<p>So why were the voices screaming so loudly?</p>
<p>
  <em>Tommy Tommy Tommy- Bridge! Bridge! Bridge-</em>
</p>
<p>Scanning the area again, Technoblade saw nothing of importance- but maybe the voices were right about something. Maybe there was a clue that would lead him towards Tommy, push him in the right direction to find him. Walking a few apprehensive steps onto the bridge, Techno looked all around him, scanning the alluring light of the lava lakes below him, and the shores that were met with soul sand-</p>
<p>There. </p>
<p>Glinting at the shore of a lava lake was something with a purple shimmering enchantment, metal glinting against the light that the lake was omitting. It was more than just a mere jump down, something that Techno would have to scale down the cliffs for, but he was more than willing to do so. Bending into his satchel, Technoblade pulled out his trusty <em>Technodrill,</em>  a pickaxe with enough enchantments and power to get him down to the shore in no time. </p>
<p>The soft noise of netherrack being destroyed in a fast fury echoed through the real of the Nether as Techno built a staircase at the edge of the cliff down to the soul sand shore of the lava lake. There was a  haste in his movements that was uncommon for the Blood God, urgency being whispered through the voices and in his own thoughts. </p>
<p>Finally constructing the last of the stairs down to the shore, Techno dropped onto the sluggish soul sand, feeling his movements come more slowly as he slunk forward, silently wishing he had been smarter with his armor enchantments so that he wouldn’t be so slow inside of this cursed realm. He had been too unprepared for a mission like this, cursing his past recklessness that had been in a hurry to try and help Tommy, Tommy who wasn't even in the Nether like the voices were screaming he had been. </p>
<p>Edging closer and closer to the edge, the object that he had spotted from so high up came into view, the purple enchantment that had stood out to him an enchantment upon a compass. Technoblade quickly snatched the item, feeling an engraved set of words on the back, the words familiar as they spelled out <em>Your Tubbo. </em></p>
<p>No. That couldn’t be right. </p>
<p>Technoblade was a man that relied on logic. He wasn’t one to trust anything without their being logical support behind it, never understanding how the rest of his family so blindly believed in things- like how Tommy so blindly loved and believed in his best friend. Techno knew the facts, and the fact of the matter was that Tommy cared for Tubbo so deeply that he would never part with an item so precious as this. </p>
<p>Techno was a logical man. He knew what the meaning of a compass being left behind insinuated. It meant that his youngest brother had decided that there was nothing truly to live for anymore, that the best thing that he could do would to be to jump off the edge of a netherrack  and never be seen again. It meant that Tommy had jumped, sinking into a fiery pit of hell that he could never come back from. </p>
<p>It meant that Tommy was dead. </p>
<p>Technoblade had never been the best with emotions. But there, sitting at the edge of a lava lake, grasping what was most logically  the last remains of Tommy that he had, there was a feeling that was suffocating his heart, pinching it in and closing in around him as he felt a scream escape his lips, unsure else how to express his emotions. He could feel the voices mourning alongside him, too many things lost before him. </p>
<p><em>Why did he have to come too late?</em> Why couldn’t he have done more for Tommy? Why couldn’t he have acted faster, why couldn’t he have seen the signs?</p>
<p>Knees sinking to the ground as he stared into the dim and glowing color of the lava, the colors shifting from red to orange, like small waves that were moving throughout the lake, Techno wanted to let it all out- the fury, the sadness, the feeling of failure that he could feel on himself, slick and slimy and sickening to the stomach. Instead, he felt nothing of the sort. </p>
<p>He felt an obligation instead of sorrow in that moment. </p>
<p>Techno had to tell Phil. He had to tell Tubbo. He had to tell everyone. There was a new drive that covered up the feeling of loss that was burrowing itself into Technoblade’s heart, distracting himself from even thinking of the fact that he would never hear Tommy’s obnoxious laugh again, or have an argument with the teenager that would end up giving both Phil and Will a headache. </p>
<p>The voices whispered to Technoblade in that moment that Wilbur might already know about Tommy. He hated that idea, pushing it away to never deal with, to never come to terms with. He refused to believe the idea that Wilbur- Ghostbur, whoever he was, was filled with enough hatred and spite against his brother to not tell him Tommy was dead. </p>
<p>But that wasn’t important anymore- stupid fueds with his dead brother (now not his only one, a part of him bitterly reminded him) needing to be placed on the backburner as Techno now sat with the knowledge that his other surrogate brother was gone from the world. </p>
<p>Taking in a shuddering breath, hearing his lungs gasping for air after the pain-filled screams that had echoed through the Nether, Technoblade rose from where he stood. His heart numb and devoid of any emotion, his mind was now set on one goal. A steely gaze inside of his eyes, there was a determination inside of them as he had a new quest he had to begin- Techno had a family to tell of what he had seen. </p>
<p>He supposed Carl would come in handy after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>GUYS GUYS GUYS I HATE THIS SO MUCH AND IT'S SO MUCH LESS THAN WHAT THE OTHER CHAPTERS WERE I AM SO SORRY</p>
<p>I really just,, suck at techno's pov huh</p>
<p>alrighty, this is just a warning that this fic might just be turning into a dumpster fire before your very eyes!! </p>
<p>anyways I don't know how to make the other notes for the other chapters go away at the bottom and it is PISSING ME OFF AHUOFHRWOHGOHUW, idk if it's actually here but it was last chapter so hgourwoghouwe</p>
<p>also, apologies if this wasn't really as angsty as the rest, I do have to admit, techno is really the one that starts kicking off the reactions, and his is really hard to portray. it will get better after this, I promise! it just is a culmination in a sense, you get me? so every chapter will just be getting more and more angsty after this. and that is Phil's and tubbo's pov</p>
<p>anyways, let me know what you guys thought in the comments, and I will see you guys next time! the support you guys showed me last time was INSANE! it really motivated me to write faster and to push through this kinda tired feeling that I'm experiencing to get it out for you! hope you guys somewhat enjoyed! (cause I really don't like this, L)</p>
<p>okay it's 1:30 ish I should really be getting to bed because this was kinda draining lol see y'all around, and happy christmas eve if y'all celebrate, and if not, happy holidays my homies </p>
<p>-ash</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Do Not Wait</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><em> Tommy and Wilbur hadn’t needed him for years, Phil figured, so they could handle being exiled and trying to overthrow yet another government that stood against them. He could watch everything occur from afar, watching like some sort of guardian angel, allowing them to continue along with their lives. He wouldn’t be the overbearing and fussy father that was the stereotype, he would allow his children to deal with their problems as they came. </em><br/> </p><p>  <em>Oh what a mistake that had been. </em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>By the time he was convinced to finally act, take a stand and help his boys, he had interfered too late. Wilbur had gone past the point of no return, detonating a country before his father’s eyes before begging him to kill him, to end the suffering that he had inflicted upon himself and the country that he left behind. He had left behind so much, a legacy tarnished with his maniacal last days and a burden. A burden that he left behind for Tommy to deal with. </em></p><p> </p><p>In which a father finds out how much more of a failure he was to his two youngest sons.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I do apologize for this one in advance. I have to admit, as much as I love the idea that Phil is a great father and everything, I will be ruining that prospect in this chapter entirely for all of you. Oh, you had hope that Phil would be a good dad inside of this universe? HA IF IT WASN'T OBVIOUS FROM WILBUR'S POV IT WILL BE EVIDENT NOW!!</p><p>also how the fuck did I grind this out the night after I wrote techno's pov and on christmas I really am married to the grind huh- </p><p>also if you want to know what I listen to while I maniacally cause angst, I will link my two playlists I have on Spotify when I write in the note at the end, because, idk, I'm bored</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Phil knew, to some extent, that he had done too little too late for Tommy and Wilbur. </p><p>Neglecting his youngest two in favor of helping his oldest thrive was something never done intentionally, of course, but there was a small part of him that knew when he let his youngest two out into the wild, allowing them to become their own people, that he hadn’t done enough. He turned them out in the wild, wanting to prepare his oldest for the reckless life that he had in store for him, figuring that the youngest two wouldn’t cause any sort of trouble, and be peaceful children like he had taught them to be. He had let Tommy leave home at 16, for Christ’s sake, there was a level of trust there to send him out into the world. (Although part of him whispered that it wasn’t trust, rather neglect that made him believe he trusted his youngest) </p><p>Course, his age hadn’t been too much of a worry- he had left Tommy in Wilbur’s hands. Wilbur had always been the one to raise Tommy when Phil wasn’t around, doing things that had importance, finding that raising his youngest was so much harder when he had more duties to attend to out in the world and older children to tend after. There was trust in his middle son as well, the one that had always seemed the most mature, the most well-kept and put together. If he had two sons that he trusted put out into the world, they would do just fine. </p><p>Oh how quickly that turned out to be the greatest mistake that Phil had made. </p><p>Wilbur had deteriorated, lost in the madness of a country he had built and lusted after until he idolized it into something that would never come around again. It began as a quiet descent into madness, one that was only noticeable by the time he decided to make a base in a cave, hidden away and suspicious of everyone around him.  Phil had sent Techno to help his two youngest then, figuring the eldest brother that he had instilled so many of his own virtues into would be the best extension of his help. </p><p>Tommy and Wilbur hadn’t needed him for years, Phil figured, so they could handle being exiled and trying to overthrow yet another government that stood against them. He could watch everything occur from afar, watching like some sort of guardian angel, allowing them to continue along with their lives. He wouldn’t be the overbearing and fussy father that was the stereotype, he would allow his children to deal with their problems as they came. </p><p>What a mistake that had been. </p><p>By the time he was convinced to finally act, take a stand and help his boys, he had interfered too late. Wilbur had gone past the point of no return, detonating a country before his father’s eyes before begging him to kill him, to end the suffering that he had inflicted upon himself and the country that he left behind. Wilbur had left a smoldering crater and burning flames, damages that could not be counted burned deep into the souls of those who had most loved him. He had left behind so much, a legacy tarnished with his maniacal last days and a burden. A burden that he left behind for Tommy to deal with.</p><p>Phil hadn’t seen that though, only realizing that his other son (his eldest, his most prized) was yet another traitor in the midst, ready to spawn monsters to cower before Tommy and the remains of L’Manberg. Thrown headfirst into a battle, Phil’s only instinct was to stay alive, to not let anyone else lose a life because of his failure as his father to Wilbur. Wilbur had been a puppet upon a string for Dream, caring not for those who he had hurt with the consequences of his actions, and Phil hated himself for not seeing it until it was too late. </p><p>Afterwards, he had helped his youngest battle the monsters that stood before them, and stood tall with him as they began to build and recover, only seeing the pride in rebuilding a country for the new generation, seeing the work that Tubbo and his new cabinet had put into effect.  It felt like some sort of obligation, a way to apologize for the mistakes he had made with Wilbur- nothing more, nothing less. He watched how drastically Tommy had changed since he had last seen him, his eyes not as bright and the laughter a little dimmer, the scars of war and betrayal hidden in the flashes of pain and sleepless nights. Phil assumed that it wasn’t something to worry about when he saw it, convinced that he was just seeing the aftermath of what he had seen in Wilbur grow inside of Tommy. </p><p>It didn’t take long for Phil to grow tired of his youngest and his shenanigans, however, and the long for the quiet time that would come in between quests and small activities with his eldest grew stronger with the time that he spent inside of the country that was upon stilts. He wasn’t sure what to do with Tommy, especially with the ever growing worry that Tommy was growing to become the next Wilbur- something he never wanted to see again. </p><p>So the father let go of his youngest, slipping back into the shadows of his life once again. </p><p>Tommy had Tubbo. He had trusted friends that would support him, and he had Ghostbur to stand beside him and be there for him- even if it was only an extension of what Wilbur once was. Tommy had the people who had stood beside him and been there for him throughout his entire life, people who would stick by him no matter what.  Tommy would be fine standing on his own, Phil had seen him do it before, and Tommy could stand again. Besides, it wasn’t like the teen had been actively searching out for his surrogate father, instead opting to cause more trouble and rebel against the authority inside of the SMP. </p><p>Said trouble coming to a head when Tommy griefed George’s house and burned it almost to the ground. </p><p>Tommy had been thrown into a court case, a trial that ended with probation, and when that wasn’t enough, exile. Exile by his best friend- a hurt so evident in his eyes the day that he had left, when Phil had watched from afar, that his surrogate father didn’t see. All Phil saw was someone who was trying to do the best for his best friend, be a voice of reason through all of Tommy’s recklessness and idiocy. Phil couldn’t blame Tubbo for the decision he made- perhaps he was making the rational decision that he would have never inflicted upon his own son ( the sort of consequences that he should’ve put onto his son so that he could maybe learn a lesson and not be so <em>fucking</em> stupid) . </p><p>Then Tommy had left, not anything but a whisper in some’s ears as he travelled away thousands and thousands of blocks away. Phil hadn’t heard too much (but then again, he wasn’t inside of L’Manberg, which seemed to be the main place of information, much anymore) instead deciding to help Techno settle down and establish a new base, much like their original home where Phil had raised the kids. </p><p>It was a comforting thing, after all of his mistakes and everything that he had seen out of his children, to come back to a place that felt like it held the same comfort as the days in which everything was fine. There was no maniacal son bordering on the edge of madness because of a manipulative man in a green hoodie and clay mask, there was no reckless youngest son reckless beyond the point of any sort of return, no oldest that would betray their closest friends and allies for the sake of an ideal. It was back to a simpler time, in which family came first- a mantra that Phil had echoed into his son’s minds so many times that it probably fell upon deaf ears by the time they got older. </p><p>It was simple, and it was easy. Sure, Phil had to keep up appearances in L’Manberg, just to sure that he could still have somewhat of an influence there in case things went wrong, but it wasn’t very often that he went back to that home. His emerald green attire was slowly shed in favor of a light blue to match the atmosphere of where he spent most of his time now, the tundra, leaving behind memories that Phil couldn’t bear to remember from the fond creation of the bucket hat his two youngest made and the blood stained clothes (that weren’t really that stained, Phil just saw the remains of what he had done haunting him). Loyalties had shifted, and his alliance to his two youngest sons, the ghost and the exiled, faded into nothing. </p><p>But now, as Phil hurriedly rushed his way out of L’Manberg, an encounter with the ghost of Wilbur bringing back ideas of Dream allowing another one of his sons to fall victim to his game of manipulation, Phil regretted <em>so, so, so</em> much. He should have never let his loyalties drift from his sons, never have allowed himself to forget the mantra that he had instilled into his own surrogate family’s mind. Every decision that he made was being questioned in his mind, wondering if he really had made the best decision for his son if it had set him upon this path. </p><p>Had he really done what was best for his two youngest? Leaving them out into a world that they had no idea how to deal with, falling prey to the glory and triumph of war without understanding the scars that it would leave behind? Allowing them to fall prey to manipulation of those who knew the world much better, leaving them to sink or swim. </p><p>There was no doubt in Phil’s mind that both of his sons had sunk. </p><p>A shuddering deep breath escaped Phil’s lips as he set his feet upon a wooden path towards the familiar route that he had taken a couple of times towards where Tommy had been exiled to (one time, the beach party, another, while his son was silently sleeping and he watched from afar, checking in to ensure that he was safe). There was the way through the Nether that he could take- but Phil hated the Nether, the suffocating heat and choking atmosphere too much to handle on a normal day, and today his worries would only make the journey worse. </p><p>So then on land it was. Or water, technically, as Tommy was over an ocean away, Dream exiling him to a place that would be harder to travel to in contrast to a place that was on land. It made it more difficult for most people to visit (offering either ocean or Nether-travel), but for Phil, who had done many trades in order for a trident for quicker travel, since his wings were outlawed from being used inside of the SMP grounds, he assumed that it wouldn’t take too much time at all. </p><p>Unsheathing the trident from its place where it had been placed carefully across his back, Phil took a deep breath in as his eyes met the shoreline, trying to prepare himself for the shock that the water would bring him. Trident travel had its benefits, sure, but it did leave the user sopping wet by the end of their journey- some sort of cruel punishment for trying to travel that fast, to try and use something that was almost equivalent to wings. </p><p>The cold water came to a shock for Phil, the chill something the man never got used to on the SMP. He longed for the warmth the skies brought him, and the wind blowing against his face, the freedom it brought him. The harsh movement of the trident inside of the ocean felt cold, unforgiving, and struck Phil in a way that words couldn’t possibly describe. There was a part of him that laughed at this fact, that how he felt on the outside was exactly how he felt on the inside, a cool and slick rush of fear inside of him. </p><p>Phil pushed through the cold and the harsh feeling that trident travel brought him, eventually finding himself washed up upon the shore of Tommy’s exile. Gasping as he felt the water dispel from his clothes, the enchantment on them ensuring that his clothes wouldn’t cause him to get sick- although his hair was still dripping wet. He tried to get a bearing of his surroundings, reorienting himself as he analyzed the terrain of Tommy’s exile. </p><p>It had deteriorated since his last visit, Phil silently noted. The wool tent in which Tommy slept in had multiple holes inside of it, the wood that held up his chest room and the building area that Ghostbur had built beginning to score and chip, decaying ever so slightly. The snapchat streaks that Tommy had built for himself as a joke hadn’t been updated in days, and the beach party set up that they had created together had all but blown away into the ocean, all forgotten about. </p><p>But where was his son?</p><p>“Tommy?” Phil called out to empty air, hearing only the whistling of wind and the echo of his words as a response. Where was the teenager? Normally he could be heard from literal miles away- so why was there no sound at all? </p><p>Realizing that he would probably have to do more than observe Logstedshire from the shore, Phil found his way up the shore, seeing the decayed and deteriorated state for his son’s exile location even more evident. Normally, the logs would be replaced quite often and the wool replaced so Tommy could sleep through the harsh weather conditions that occurred on this side of the SMP.  Even if Tommy was on a quick trip or dayquest, he wouldn't have let things go to shit this drastically. He knew his son had more pride than that. So where was he? </p><p>Phil started inside of the large housing area that Ghostbur had built on the occasions in which he would become a “Lad on Tour”, finding nothing but chests lined with a small layer of dust and barrels filled with stacks and stacks of blue. Blue wasn’t something Tommy liked to go near, so why had it all been left here so casually? </p><p>An apprehensive sort of fear started to bubble up inside of Phil’s stomach, his mind now immediately racing with new thoughts of worry about his youngest son. What had happened to Tommy? Where had he wandered off to? Was he safe? Was he under the control of Dream- and would he have to go to Techno to help get Tommy back?</p><p><em>“Tommy!”</em> Phil called again, his voice louder, worry beginning to overwhelm him as his father mode began to kick in. It was strange, he hadn’t felt true worry like this in years. Running out of the enclosed log area, Phil saw the Nether portal, swirling and purple and alluring, trying to call him in, he saw the guest tent by the shore, unused, saw his son’s tent. </p><p>There. His tent would have the answers that he needed. </p><p>Stumbling towards the tent on the path that had been lazily made, weeds already growing at the edge of it, Phil found himself at his son’s tent, finding a picture of his friends and L’Manberg tacked on the tent’s inside, along with a jukebox and two chests. The jukebox seemed to be playing static on a loop, reaching the end of the disc that it had. It was a haunting sound, something that seemed to be implying something that Phil couldn’t pick up on in the moment. </p><p>Reaching into the jukebox, the father carefully removed the disc, holding it preciously in his hands. It was Chirp, a music disc Phil hadn’t realized his son had loved. The disc seemed to be worn out quite badly, the red tape distinguishing it as Chirp peeling away in flecks, the outside of the discs and the grooves it had slowly been run down. It was delicate, Phil treating it almost as if it was about to shatter as he carefully laid it on his son’s bed inside of the tent, moving onto the chest. </p><p>The chest was the same as the other ones he had seen inside of the official Logstedshire, lined with a thin layer of dust, belongings thrown astray inside of it. There was a manner in which the items were strewn about with no organization, as if his son didn’t really care too much about his supplies or the fact that they should be properly organized in order to be used. It alarmed Phil, but not as much as the next item he observed. </p><p>It was an ender chest, the kid surprisingly able to keep one in exile, meaning that Dream had either figured that there wasn’t anything of value for Tommy inside of there, or that he had been placated enough that he wouldn’t try to kill Dream on sight. Which was concerning either way, but what was more concerning was the appearance of the ender chest. </p><p>It had changed when Phil drew near it, a more purple hue coming to light against the greens and teals that were so commonly associated with the chest. When he placed his hand on the chest, opening it, it seemed to falter, before a line of text, much like the communicator text that would appear on their small devices,  appeared before the man.</p><p>
  <em>Please select: Tommyinnit or Philza. </em>
</p><p>No. No. <em>No.</em></p><p>There had been legends- whispers, of what something like this, a selection title when one opened their ender chest meant. After one had lost their final life, the first person who would find their ender chest and their belongings was the new owner of their precious items. Finders Keepers, was the rule in this land, a rule so cruelly enacted by Dream so that one’s possessions wouldn’t stay with them if they ended up dying. </p><p>No one had ever said anything about what had happened after Wilbur’s death, partially since the man wasn’t one to keep supplies in an ender chest, so there wasn’t much left of him, and partially because whoever found the chest never came forward. The rumors of what happened when someone finally left this world were merely just rumors- until this very moment. </p><p>Until that moment in which Phil realized that he had lost a second son.</p><p>Hand clamped over his mouth, tears began to streak down his face, silently and quickly, realizing painfully that he had, yet again, come too late to save another one of his sons. Phil had no idea how he had let two of his own children, two boys he had seen as his own sons, even if they weren’t biological, slip through his fingers like sand upon a shoreline. </p><p>Sobs silently began to escape his lips as he stumbled back into the ground, his legs losing all feeling as he collapsed, the realization finally beginning to fully sink in. Tommy was dead. He had died- and even though Phil had no idea how it had happened or who had done it- there was a sinking feeling that it was his fault. That his sake of abandonment had somehow driven his son to end up in the place where he had ended up- wherever Tommy was in this moment. </p><p>The anguish that Phil felt was indescribable, the pain something he hadn’t felt even when he had killed his own son. He had buried that feeling, tried to cover it up with other emotions and goals and things to set his mind upon, but with the now ever present feeling creating an even larger gaping hole in his heart, the feeling surfaced again. Phil wasn’t one to scream, he never was one, but a sound of pure pain and sadness escaped his lips as he began to cry, unable to notice the loud thundering sounds of someone coming closer on horseback. </p><p>“Phil?!” The voice echoed throughout the shoreside, the ruins of Logstedshire, the father immediately identifying it as his oldest (and now <em>only</em>) son, desperation and fear in his voice. The man quickly got off of his horse, running towards the place where he heard the sobs of a father- realizing that Phil had unearthed something that was horrible.  “Phil!” Technoblade burst in through the tent’s flaps, seeing the man he considered to be a father figure sitting across from an ender chest, tears obvious as they glistened in the light that came in from the tent. </p><p>“Techno-” His voice hiccupped as he cried, Phil no longer caring how weak he seemed in front of his son, watching him rush towards him, the embrace welcoming after the discovery. He had lost another son, because of his neglect and fear. By pushing Tommy away, he had helped to contribute to his untimely end. “Techno, he’s-”</p><p>“I know.” Technoblade interrupted his father, allowing him to cry inside of his embrace, the son gripping an item of much importance to Tommy. “When Wilbur visited me out of nowhere, I knew somethin’ was wrong, I just had no idea it was… this.” He paused, his eyes falling back on the compass he held in his hand. </p><p>Phil pulled away from his son’s hug, confused as to what he was staring at, until his eyes fell upon the compass that laid inside of Techno’s hand. It was Tommy’s treasured compass, one that was matching with one that Tubbo had inside of L’Manberg- something that he would never take off of his person unless it was forced. “Where…. Where did you find this?”</p><p>Techno paused before he spoke, unsure if his father was ready to hear the words that he was about to tell him, afraid that it would only break him further. “In the Nether. Phil- I-I’m pretty sure he jumped.” He spoke softly, in a low tone, watching as Phil realized what the implications of his words truly meant. “We lost him, Phil.”</p><p>“We lost Tommy.” </p><p>As the cries of a father began to start up again, his only son standing by his side and holding onto him, trying to be his tether in a world that was so cruel to him, there seemed to be someone else listening in. Some who sat at the top of a Nether portal, humming a soft harmonic tune as they watched their own family members left hold onto each other, the perfect family that they had always been. </p><p>Now there was only other one person to make the discovery- and perhaps it would be the most painful one yet.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>alrighty boys, how we feeling? we got some angsty father content, and some reflection into some MORE of my head canons that I have- especially about ender chests and stuff, because it only makes sense that at least someone gets someone's possessions after they finally lose their last canon death</p><p>anyways- I am very surprised that I got this out early tonight, it's only 10:45 so maybe you'll get the first chapter in a different multi-chapter fit that I am starting, and it's a very cool one (: </p><p>thank you for all of the support you've shown me so far in this series, and kudos and comments are always appreciated!! and if you have ANY questions, I'm always down to answer them! once again, thank you so much! I'll see you in the next chapter- our final one, which is crazy! (should I continue this series?? lmk lol )</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Cut That Always Bleeds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>The compass wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working? </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>Tubbo knew that it was supposed to lead him directly to Tommy at all times- it worked the exact same way as the first one (that he had accidentally destroyed in a charged creeper explosion that he still felt awful about) that he had. It should have worked with the new one that Wilbur had so kindly granted him that day, just like the old one did. He knew the ghost wasn’t someone dumb, and he would’ve liked to think that Ghostbur wouldn’t have intentionally made a bad compass.  So why wasn't he seeing any direct path to his best friend?</em></p><p> </p><p>In which the final piece of the puzzle connects, and Tubbo discovers what has happened to his best friend. Oh, and the man (or ghost, to be exact) that set the three down the path to ruin finally reveals the meaning of everything.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi guys!! </p><p>lemme just say that I am SO sorry that this took forever for me to write. it was the holidays, so obviously there was a lot of time spent with the family, as a matter of a fact, this weekend is my last of winter break and I'm procrastinating some ap work to give this to you all, but that's beside the point. </p><p>main reason why this took so long was I was terrified of ending it poorly for all of you, and that your expectations were so high of me and that I would let you down. luckily, some of my friends in the wormhole server last night actually just found my fic (some I actually told them about it, others stumbled upon it) and told me too stop worrying and just write the motherfucking ending,,, so I did!</p><p>I hope I did the end of this story justice, and I'll see you at the end of the fic!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tubbo couldn’t sleep that night. </p><p>He sat, staring up in the makeshift home (if he could even call it a home, it was a tiny room inside of the “White House” of L’Manberg), trying to get his mind off of the gift that Ghostbur had given him. The gift of a second chance, the opportunity to right the wrongs that he had made. Over the grueling length of the weeks (or was it months? Tubbo wasn’t sure anymore, time was something that was elusive and hard to grasp inside of the SMP) of Tommy’s exile, the idea that Tubbo had made the worst error of his life had become much more than a whisper in his mind. </p><p>He had visited Tommy maybe once, quickly popping through the portal on a night in which he couldn’t sleep, seeing nothing but a tent and some sort of structure in the far off distance. But that night, before he could’ve gone any further, Dream had appeared in front of him, escorting him away from the place that contained his best friend, reminding him that it was probably best if the President of L’Manberg not be socializing with some criminal. </p><p>Because that was what Tommy was now to Tubbo, to L’Manberg- a criminal.</p><p>From that point on, Tubbo tried to steer clear of Tommy or anything to do with him, the only reminder of his former best friend, the original compass that burned its way into Tubbo’s pocket. That was, until it slipped out one day on an adventure with Ranboo in the pouring rain and then was promptly destroyed by a supercharged creeper. </p><p>At the time, Tubbo figured it was probably the best. It had only been a week or so into Tommy’s exile, and he had thought that he would have to get unattached from his best friend (former best friend) at some point. The compass being destroyed maybe meant that it would become a little easier to separate himself from the personal connection he had with the person in exile, and allow him to be a better president. </p><p>After all, that was what Dream, Quackity, and Fundy kept telling him. </p><p>Rising from his place in his bed, Tubbo gave a groan as he popped his shoulders, trying to get himself stretched out and ready for the journey to wherever Tommy’s place of exile was. While he had been there before, he didn’t know if that was where Tommy was in that exact moment, and while he was quite alright with just going to a familiar place, he would’ve much rather found Tommy directly than dance around the actual location of his friend. </p><p>Ghostbur had provided him with the opportunity to actually go out and find his best friend again. He wasn’t going to ruin it. </p><p>Fishing the compass out of his ender chest, where he had placed it before he had crawled into bed a mere couple of hours before, Tubbo rubbed his eyes as he stared down at the object that laid in the palm of his hand. The purple enchantment glimmered in front of him, but there was something wrong with the needle, and upon further inspection, it wasn’t because of Tubbo’s somewhat sleep-caused delirium. The needle wasn’t moving. </p><p>The compass wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working? </p><p>Tubbo knew that it was supposed to lead him directly to Tommy at all times- it worked the exact same way as the first one (that he had accidentally destroyed in a charged creeper explosion that he still felt awful about) that he had. It should have worked with the new one that Wilbur had so kindly granted him that day, just like the old one did. He knew the ghost wasn’t someone dumb, and he would’ve liked to think that Ghostbur wouldn’t have intentionally made a bad compass.  So why wasn't he seeing any direct path to his best friend?</p><p>Tubbo knew what a compass that didn’t work meant. Everyone did- it was some of the most common knowledge in the SMP, something that had been discussed upon first coming into the grounds of the SMP. If a compass linked to another person stopped working, it either meant that the person had severed ties with the compass and the connection it held, the compass had been destroyed, or the person was no longer… there. </p><p>But Tubbo didn’t want to think about any of the options that the compass not working would mean. It would’ve meant that he failed his best friend, someone who he should’ve never let out of his sight, someone who he should’ve cherished and fought for harder. He should’ve never put his country before his best friend, and he only wished that he wasn’t too late to tell Tommy that he was sorry. </p><p>Letting out a frustrated grunt, Tubbo smacked his free hand against the compass, seeing the needle move under its contact. He willed it to go somewhere, smacking it again, the chill of the night sky and the crescent curve of a moon smiling at him through a window inside his “home” not adding anything positive to the situation. “Come on.” He muttered to himself, staring at the shimmering enchantment of the compass, waiting for a response, the purple glow the only answer to his words. <em>“Please</em> work.” </p><p>It seemed in that moment, Tubbo’s prayers were answered, the needle finally picking up a location again. He wasn’t sure how it had exactly come moving back to life, but the hope that he could find Tommy again rose up and fluttered like a butterfly inside of his chest. </p><p>The connection was still there. </p><p>Stumbling out of the White House, tripping over the wooden stairs and the farm that was unkempt in front of it, Tubbo’s heart was pounding inside of his chest, blood rushing in his ears as his adrenaline spiked, a rush to find his best friend igniting him with a new energy. Sure, it was probably way past midnight and probably some point in the early hours of the morning, the dark sky an indication of that fact, but Tubbo didn’t care. </p><p>He was going to find his best friend. </p><p>Finding that the needle was headed away from L’Manberg, towards the part of the Prime Path that led towards the Dream SMP, Tubbo shrugged on his presidential jacket that had been hanging over his shoulders, the sudden brisk chill that bit at his bones something that Tubbo was still not used to. It was something that had come with the burden of president, the warmth that he felt before slowly seeping out of his bones as he put his country first, personal feelings and any relationships put to the side. </p><p>Unbeknownst to him, Tubbo was following the same path that Phil had followed only hours earlier. A path that would lead to knowledge and insight into a situation that Tubbo had never known about, a path that would lead to regret and guilt that the young teenager would carry with him for the rest of his life. </p><p>His feet hitting the wooden planks of the staircase that would lead him away from L’Manberg, away from the nation that now stood on stilts over the ruins of a president past, Tubbo took in a deep breath, staring out at his country all lit up at night. The Chinese lanterns Ghostbur had made twinkled like stars in the night sky, a soft glow guiding someone home, to the place that they belonged.</p><p>By the time Tubbo returned, he hoped that Tommy would be with him, leading him back to the place they both called home. </p><p>Taking the steps two by two, passing by the old monuments of the SMP, it all felt like a strange scene for Tubbo. He wasn’t one to spend late nights up in the SMP, so to see the perspective of everything with a strange moonlight glow upon monuments of the past and memories long forgotten was something that seemed somewhat poetic. The one time he would dwell in the darkness and the moments of the night would be for his best friend- to make up for a mistake he had made in the dawn of a day, for what he assumed would be the dawn of an era. </p><p>It was sort of funny how all of these things had a sort of symbolism to them. Tubbo wasn’t sure if the symbolism made any actual sense (he blamed it on the dyslexia and still trying to catch up with the hour of rest he had gotten beforehand), but he didn’t care. </p><p>His eyes were trained on the compass once he reached the edge of the SMP, the compass pointing in the direction of the Nether, Tubbo’s stomach dropping when he saw the swirling purple of the portal match the purple enchantment of the compass. He absolutely hated the Nether, the stifling realm a place that reminded him of the memories of suffocating boxes, explosions of fireworks, and the explosion of his nation before his eyes. </p><p>Tubbo didn’t want to go into the Nether. But for Tommy, Tubbo would. </p><p>A deep and shuddering breath escaping his lips, Tubbo stepped through the swirling entrance to the Nether. He was met with the familiar suffocating atmosphere and warm tones of netherrack, the glow of lava and the soft light of glowstone the only light inside of the hellscape of a realm. There was something so off-putting about the realm, a reason why Tubbo mostly avoided the place like the plague. He hated the lack of life that seemed to be here, the colors a harsh palette that reminded him of death. </p><p>The place even smelled like death, a sort of sorrowful ending of ash, smoke, and things that reminded the young president too much of the ruins of L’Manberg after the withers and the TNT that had started off his presidency. The sounds were an echo chamber of complete static, sounds vibrating and humming in a deep tone that sent chills down Tubbo’s spine. </p><p>He had every desire to run back to the Nether HQ and back into the overworld, taking the longer route over sea to Tommy, but Tubbo pushed all of those thoughts aside. The Nether was the quickest option for him- as he had no trident, no wings (not naturally like Phil, though he was chained to the ground and prohibited from using them), no ender pearls to get him where he was going faster than going through the void of a realm that he was now in. </p><p>Tubbo pushed all of the thoughts of his hatred for the Nether out of his mind and moved forward, his eyes careful to flit between the compass that was so carefully placed inside of his palm and the dangers of the Nether. He was unarmed, with no armor, as was the policy in L’Manberg, and everything inside of the realm was a danger. </p><p>He sort of hated that he was so unprepared for whatever he was about to see inside of the Nether, what he was going to experience on his search for Tommy, but Tubbo just wanted to see his best friend. His reckless mind hadn’t allowed him time to prepare, and he was mentally scolding his former self of about an hour past for it. </p><p>The path that laid above the lava lakes in the sky and the connection to different parts of the SMP slowly became less and less taken care of as Tubbo moved out, the young teenager silently noting that the wide pathways of blackstone that were so common close to the headquarters slowly became cobblestone and obsidian, eventually blending into a small three block wide bridge. It was a sign that this area was less cared about, less visited, less explored, and it made Tubbo’s heart drop as he realized he was getting closer to Tommy’s exile. </p><p>He knew he had made a mistake, but it became the most obvious when the cobblestone and obsidian bridge became a flimsy bridge made of wooden oak logs that almost seemed to be rotting away, too far up from the lava lakes to burn. It was a jagged one block bridge, a sign in front of it plastered with the words:</p><p>
  <em>Now entering: Logstedshire. Population: 1</em>
</p><p>Tubbo’s heart filled up with the smallest glimmer of hope again at the sign, the compass and the sign an indication that he was on the right way to his best friend. That it wouldn’t be much longer until he could see him again, hold him in an embrace that he would never let go of, tell him that he was so so sorry and that he would never let him go again. </p><p>Not caring about how reckless it was to walk across the logs that could crumble underneath his feet, Tubbo took the bridge in large and fast strides, his heart pounding as the view of another Nether portal on a cliff of netherrack came into view. The compass hadn’t led him astray, Ghostbur had actually connected him back to his best friend, and now he would be able to atone for all of the errors he had made as president. </p><p>He could bring his best friend home. </p><p>The needle seemed to almost be vibrating, a surefound sign that the person he was looking for was on the other side of the portal, just barely out of reach but close enough all the same. It made Tubbo anxious yet excited all the same, to finally see Tommy, to finally unexile him and bring him back to the place that they had fought so hard for. </p><p>Not wasting any time, Tubbo stumbled straight through the Nether portal, happy to leave the hell of a realm to find his friend. The journey that he had made was going to be worth it, the night spent sleepless was going to be <em> worth it. </em> All of it would be worth it again, because he was going to see his best friend. The familiar purple glow washed over him as a relief filled up his entire body, a smile lighting up his face, feeling the familiar air of the Overworld again, opening his eyes to see-</p><p>Not Tommy.</p><p>The noise of his entry had stirred two from their positions around a campfire, two figures that Tubbo could most definitely tell were not Tommy. The familiar draped wings of Phil were obvious, and the pink hair that Tubbo could barely make out in the moonlight meant that Technoblade was beside him. They weren’t Tommy, that was obvious. So why was the compass pointing straight in their direction? </p><p>The answer became clear when he saw the glinting enchantment of the other compass, the link to his own, buried inside of Technoblade’s hand. The answer was so obvious from the sorrow filled gaze that was thrown in his direction from Phil, Techno’s face for once in his life filled with a sadness of his own- something that Tubbo had only seen once before.</p><p>When Wilbur, Technoblade’s other surrogate brother, had died. </p><p>It was in that moment that the pieces clicked together for Tubbo- the compass, the looks of sadness, the deteriorating state of the campsite that he was slowly taking in around him. The smell of death inside of the Nether, the feeling that there was something wrong and urgent when Ghostbur had visited (a feeling that Tubbo had shoved aside, so stupidly, thinking it was just his thoughts overthinking as they so often had when he was president). </p><p>“No.” Tubbo whispered, seeing the two looming figures, one an enemy, one a friend, pity and sadness filling up their eyes as Techno held the other compass, something that Tubbo knew Tommy would never let go of. “No.” He whispered again, mind racing in disbelief as he almost stumbled back into the portal, Phil reacting quick enough to catch the teenager before he fell back into the Nether, carefully grabbing a hold of him and locking him into an embrace. Tubbo couldn’t react to the sudden embrace, his mind focusing more on the fact that Tommy wasn’t there, Tommy didn’t have his compass, Tommy was-</p><p>Tommy was dead. </p><p>Tears sprung immediately in Tubbo’s eyes as Phil ran a hand through his hair, trying to console the teenager in front of him, his son’s best friend, trying to help the pain that Tubbo felt in the moment. Tommy was dead- but it didn't feel real. Tubbo felt like he was in some sort of alternate reality, maybe a nightmare, his mind playing games on him, but the hands running through his hair were real. The embrace he felt was real. Which meant, as an acknowledgment of those facts, it meant that <em> Tommy was dead. </em> It wasn’t long before sobs escaped Tubbo’s lips, the tears a never ending river that he couldn’t seem to stop. </p><p>Why had he been too late? Why had he even exiled his best friend? Why had he even made that mistake, so fatal and life-changing? Why did the story have to end this way, with Tubbo being the final villain in Tommy’s history, the one to exile him and to drive him to end his own life? The questions looped over and over in his mind, the only constant being <em>why, why, why?</em></p><p>The night sky that was growing lighter by the second seemed to mock Tubbo and his idea that everything would be alright, the moon’s crescent shape no longer a smile assuring Tubbo that he would lead his best friend home. No, it was the wicked and sharp grin that was laughing at the young president for all of the mistakes that he had made, the missteps along the way that had led him to this very moment, one less person that he cared about (no, the <em>only person</em> he truly ever did really care about) gone from this world. </p><p>And it was his fault. </p><p>When the tears had died down from Tubbo’s face, Phil’s embrace finally letting up for just a moment, for the father figure of his best friend (now dead, his mind bitterly reminded him) to stare down at him, assessing his tears that had carved rivers into his face and the sniffling of his nose. To take pity on Tubbo, to try and save him like the way that he could never save his son. </p><p>“Tubbo.” The man murmured, nudging him away from the portal and towards a makeshift campfire that Techno and Phil had set up for the night, the two of them too grief-ridden to even bother making the journey back to Technoblade’s house before Tubbo had stumbled upon them. Phil could tell that the kid was still in shock, and that standing in the place where he had made such a discovery wasn't going to be a good thing- the fire was much safer. “C’mon mate, come sit down.” </p><p>And so they sat, the tears lining Tubbo’s eyes finally drying and Phil sat down next to him, across the way from Technoblade, the three of them silent for a moment. Phil had shoved a hot chocolate mug into Tubbo’s hands before he could even say anything, the warmth of the drink grounding him in a moment in which he felt couldn’t be real- it <em>shouldn’t</em> have been. </p><p>But it was. </p><p>Clearing his throat, Tubbo stared across at Technoblade, then moving his gaze towards Phil, trying to get their attention, to try and gain a better understanding. There was a hesitation at first, almost as if Tubbo was afraid to truly know the answers to what he was about to ask, but he pushed the fear in his mind aside and asked anyways. “Tell me everything.” He pleaded, the story of how they found out something that the boy wanted- no, <em>needed-</em> to know. </p><p>“Everything?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. Everything.” </p><p>The night blended into day as Technoblade and Phil told their stories of discovery, the crackle of a campfire the only sound other than their voices as Tubbo listened. And, when the time came, Tubbo told his own story of discovery. The pain, the frantic desire to find his friend as quickly as possible, and the one person connecting all three of their stories. </p><p> </p><p>Ghostbur. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur sat and watched from afar as the rest of his family crumpled apart under the ruin they caused, the cries were something that almost seemed to give him satisfaction. He was invisible, of course, one of the perks of finally remembering everything being the ability to learn all of the capabilities of a ghost, one of them being invisible in the SMP until he willed himself otherwise. A smile formed on his face, one no one could see, but a sort of contentment rose up inside of him. The pain that he had felt when stumbling upon his brother in a realm he had only thought was his was now being shared, the discovery.</p><p>The dawn had brought a different revelation and a different future than what Tubbo had hoped, and it was all sorts of ironic. The one time that there was supposed to be a fresh start, a good fresh start, people taking back the mistakes they had made instead of being stubborn and sticking to them, they had come too late. The only noise was the silence that hung over Tubbo, Phil, and Technoblade, the silent rustling of leaves and the movement of an invisible figure. </p><p>While the noise was quiet, it didn’t take too long for someone to notice there was another person dwelling in the soft light that washed over the ruins of an exile, Techno understanding what was finally happening. Why everything had ended up the way it was, why they were all driven to come together and unite in such a cruel way. </p><p>But he wanted the answers from the person who had brought them together. </p><p>“Wilbur.” Techno snarled, watching Phil look over at his surrogate son with confusion from across the now extinguished campfire, a perplexed look written all over his face. “I know you’re here. I heard you humming earlier, you idiot. There was a pause, “Ghostbur” suddenly making his form known, still sitting on top of the Nether portal, elbows on his thighs as he stared down upon the small group that he had summoned in front of him. “Mind telling me what you’re lurking around here for?” </p><p>“Wilbur?” Phil murmured, looking up at the ghost that he had inadvertently created with the death of his alive son before looking across the campfire they had set up in front of Tommy’s old and rotting tent. They hadn’t had the heart to enter Logstedshire, or the official version that Ghostbur had built. It was partly a decision that was pushed by Techno, partly because Phil couldn’t find it in himself to move any further. “What do you mean Wilbur? That’s-”  </p><p>“Ghostbur?” Wilbur mocked, slipping into the high pitched voice Phil had associated him with in the past months, giving a laugh as his tone slipped, shaking his head. The ghost watched as Tubbo, buried inside of Phil’s embrace, dared to look up at him, seeing a shock fill his eyes. “Hardly.” His eyes shone with a new sense of cruelty, a harsh reality that used to formerly be innocence, something that the trio was accustomed to. It was a jarring sort of thing to witness, to see someone that you had thought you understood transform into something else before your very eyes. A sort of betrayal in it of itself, that the ghost in front of the three had been lying to them about who they were, a stab in the back. </p><p>Standing up from his position, Wilbur gave a sort of mock bow in front of his father, bitterness rising up in him that was indescribable. “Pleasure to see you again, Phil. New outfit looks good on you. Abandoning the past of your youngest two, I see.” He brushed over the new attire and the abandonment of a gift long forgotten, seeing his father flinch again at the mention of the bucket hat he had left behind, relishing in the sort of pain he could inflict upon his father, even in the afterlife. </p><p>“Not that it matters much anyways, you really didn’t raise your youngest.” Wilbur continued on, his mannerisms falling back into the old habits of what he used to be in Pogtopia, hands knit together and placed behind his back, posture almost too overbearingly perfect for the 6’5 young man. He could see Techno give a grimace at the old mannerism, Phil’s eyes filled with something that WIlbur couldn’t put a name on. “ Just turned him out into the brave new world with his older brother to raise him, what a <em>great</em> father you turned out to be. Would much rather be with your eldest, your most prized, conquering other realms than actually raise your youngest or support him at all, huh?” </p><p>“Wilbur-” </p><p>“Techno, do you really want to start this again?” The attention turned from the father figure that had abandoned his two youngest to the one that the father had abandoned him for. Wilbur’s eyes narrowed in on the oldest of their surrogate family, seeing Techno meet his gaze with a cold glare. “I would’ve thought that just what happened in your new little <em>Antarctic Empire</em> was enough, but if it really wasn’t, I’m sure we can talk about how you just totally abandoned Tommy when you knew where he was, when I laid down the groundwork for you to help him, because god knows I couldn’t do anything as a ghost to even try and help him, what with my memories so flaky at the time of his exile. </p><p>Hearing a sniffle come out of Phil’s arms, Wilbur let out a cold scoff. “Oh and don’t get me started on you, Tubbo. Abandoning your best friend, when there was only one thing that he had ever done for himself selfishly, the discs, and leaving him to exile was cruel. After everything he had sacrificed for the nation that <em>I built,</em> that I trusted you to take over and lead with <em>kindness</em> alongside Tommy -”</p><p>“Wilbur.” Technoblade spoke again, interrupting the ghost of his brother, an annoyed look on his face masking the amount of regret and hurt that was buried deep inside of his chest. He wasn’t going to allow Wilbur to continue to just rip Tubbo to shreds, not after the discovery that his best friend was dead. He was smart enough to know that it was better for him to take the front of it than to watch the young president break before his eyes. “I’m going to ask you again. What are you doing here?” He spoke slowly, with a slight bit of anger in every word. </p><p>“I really thought it would be obvious by now.” Wilbur scoffed, shaking his head while a small clicking noise escaped his mouth. “You all are here for the same exact reason. Because of what you did to contribute to- to all of this.” His arms widened, reminiscent of the way he had stood over the rubble of L’Manberg, causing Tubbo to turn away from where the ghost stood. </p><p>“The rotting remains of an exile.” He spat, venom obvious in his voice as he forced the three of them to finally take a hard look at the world around them, about the sort of atmosphere that they had left Tommy behind in. “An exile in which, might I add, was with only the man who’s hated him since the very beginning and a ghost- a ghost!- who couldn’t even remember who they were until it was far too late. And now, because of it, because of <em>your</em> actions, you have a child who’s gone from this world far too quickly.” </p><p>“A child which I had to find, inside of the void in which I thought was just my own, since, of course, I had been naive enough to believe that I would be the only ghost to come of this server, that you would learn from the mistakes and not let another person lose everything they had on their own-” Wilbur continued, watching the recognition light up in Tubbo’s eyes as he realized that his best friend was still somewhat around, a ghost that he could still find some closure with. “Sobbing into my arms, wondering why no one cared for him in this world. Why no one could save him from the fate that he inflicted upon himself.”</p><p>“Because he <em>jumped,</em> of his <em>own accord,</em> into the fiery pits of lava that lay below the bridge that he made in the Nether.” Wilbur’s voice cracked, the emotion of finding his own brother indescribable in that moment, the words flowing out of his mouth just a way to hurt those around him, to make them understand what they had brought upon the youngest of the server- their family member and best friend. “On a bridge in which he hoped you all would see and use to visit him. Instead, you shoved him aside, like a worthless piece of garbage, pushing him away and figuring you were better off without him. How could you <em>ever</em> even think that?” </p><p>“How could you even dare to believe that the best thing in all of our lives, <em>Tommyinnit,</em> could be worth <em>so little?”</em> </p><p>The silence that washed over the group was unbearable after Wilbur screamed at them, the realization of how gravely the three had messed up even more obvious than before. The blood was on their hands, and Wilbur was tired of trying to take on the load of his brother and what he couldn’t do for him by himself. </p><p>“I hope you’re happy with yourselves.” A look of disgust rose up upon Wilbur’s face as he shook his head at those who he looked down upon, turning away from them, not even wanting to see their reactions any longer. The temporary glee that he had felt from their pain no longer felt so enjoyable, a sinking feeling in his stomach making him sick as Wilbur realized that they would never understand- not fully. They would just continue on, mourn for a short while, and never learn the lessons that needed to be learned. Because Tommy would just come back as a ghost for them to still believe was their Tommy, when Wilbur knew it wasn’t the case at all. </p><p>“Wilbur.” The soft voice of Tubbo spoke up for the first time, causing the man to turn his head to stare back at the young president. He saw the tears that had continued to fall as he mourned his best friend, finding no part of him to truly care about him. He had been the main cause of Tommy’s death- how could he? “You said you found Tommy in your void. Does that mean- there’s still a part of him? As a ghost?” </p><p>The ghost in question turned back away from Tubbo’s pleading glare, giving an overexaggerated sigh as he shoved his hands into his front pockets, longing for the trench coat he had worn inside of the caves of Pogtopia (it would’ve made the scene <em>much more</em> dramatic, and there was a strange sense of comfort from the clothing item, the last real thing that Wilbur had remembered living in, not this stupid yellow sweater and blue stained hands that his naïveté of his original ghost form had). “Yes.” The answer was short, frank, and honest. It was all Wilbur could provide the kid he saw in front of him. </p><p>“But if he decides to come here or just stay in the void is up to him.” He explained, his own form flickering, the thoughts of joining Tommy again becoming more and more appealing to Wilbur with every passing second in the SMP’s overworld. “And I don’t think that he wants to ever see any of you again. Or come back here again.” Wilbur tacked on, seeing the new look of pain flash in Tubbo’s eyes for an instant. </p><p>Wilbur didn’t want to answer any more questions. He could tell that there was something wrong in the air for him now, some sort of calling to go back to his void (whether it was Tommy willing his brother back for help or some other force outside of his control) that he should listen to. Taking in a deep breath, a sigh escaping his lips, Wilbur could only find the strength to say one last thing to his family. “You know, Tommy told me what his final words were-” </p><p>
  <em>“Heroes don’t get their happy endings.”</em>
</p><p>“I can’t help but think he was right.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>.... so, how we feeling? </p><p>did I do it okay? did you guys get some somewhat closure and a bit too much angst from that ending? </p><p>now, I know last time I asked if you guys would really want to see more from this series, and the answer was an overwhelming yes. problem is, I have a bajillion ideas for one shots but also zero ideas at all. so if you guys have any suggestions on any of the things that you want to see first or have priority (ie, one of my friends in the wormhole server mentioned doing a one shot with dream and I hadn't even thought of that green bastard when writing this originally, or if you wanna see a one shot of Wilbur taking care of Tommy or something like that) feel free to let me know!</p><p>AAAAA I don't know what to say left, comments and kudos and anything you can possibly tell me is an amazing motivation for me to work harder and faster, and I try to respond to every comment, so chances are if you do comment I will respond and read it! they really do make my day!</p><p>once again, thank you all SO FUCKING much for supporting this fic and the series surrounding it- it's been absolutely insane, and to close this small chapter of it all with so much support (we're almost at 10,000 hits. how fucking insane is that?), which I didn't really expect, as this was just more of a fun angst project for me, is absolutely insane. </p><p>I hope I've done you all justice, and thank you thank you thank you for the support! I love you all very much and I can't wait to write more for this series and I hope you all stick around! </p><p>&lt;3 </p><p>-ash</p>
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